


the road less traveled

by sinequanon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Originals (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Original Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-11-30 18:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11468757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinequanon/pseuds/sinequanon
Summary: Once, the Mikaelson family was happy, healthy, and whole. Mikael and Esther loved their children, and their children loved them as well.And then there was a werewolf.Or, the story of how their mother's spell changed the Mikaelson siblings; maybe Stiles most of all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are a few things I'd like you to know about this story. First, I'm not sure if this story has been edited or not. It was written in early 2015, and while I probably looked over it as some point, I don't actually remember one way or the other. The reason I mention it is because I intended to reread and possibly expand some things before I started posting, but when I tried, I couldn't recapture the voice I used in this fic (and any edits I made felt forced), so I stopped. If you find any glaring errors, please let me know. Second, this crossover is Originals-heavy; by that, I mean that Stiles is the only TW character we'll encounter for the first half of the fic. Finally, for those of you who are here for the relationship, the Lydia/Stiles is mostly suggested, and is a very small part of the story. In fact, those who don't care for the relationship aspect could easily pretend that the two of them are just close friends.
> 
> Sorry for the long note, and happy reading!

The youngest of eight children, Stiles Mikaelson was a bright spark of joy to his family and the people around him. From the time he could walk, he used his boundless curiosity and enthusiasm to connect with all sorts of people, acquiring knowledge and making friends in the unlikeliest of places. Stiles knew everyone, often better than they wanted him to know them. Even if people sometimes found him overbearing (including those in his own family), Stiles knew that his parents and siblings all loved him unconditionally. His father would patiently teach him about this tree or that fish, and his mother would calmly answer all of his questions about how to do this or that around the house, and tell him why things were to be done in that particular way. How lucky he was, he always thought, to have parents so willing to teach him about the world.

When Stiles was ten, his favorite pastime was following his brother Henrik around. Henrik was fourteen, and old enough to find his younger brother’s attention extremely annoying. Stiles, however, thought that Henrik’s attitude was unfair, considering how much time Henrik spent following Niklaus around, and resolved to unerringly follow both brothers around regardless of their opinions on the matter.

This tendency for he and Henrik to follow Niklaus around like ducklings was how Stiles found out about werewolves.

Stiles might have been the youngest in his family, but he was also the smartest. It wasn't that the others were stupid, but few people realized that Stiles spent just as much time watching other people as he did talking to them. He could tell a lot about a person by the way they acted when they thought no one was watching.

(He did a lot of watching.)

Stiles realized rather quickly that the reason Nik spent so much time watching the werewolves was because something in them called to him; he was _like_ them. Nicklaus visited the wolves often, much to their father's displeasure, though Stiles suspected that his brother didn't know why he was drawn to the other village. Both Nik and Kol made friends with some of the other boys there, but were forced to sneak out to see them because father didn't approve of fraternizing with werewolves.

Occasionally, with the correct amount of bartering and/or blackmailing, Henrik and Stiles went with their brothers to the other village. Usually, the youngest Mikaelsons would be left at the edge of the village boundary and forced to make their own entertainment while waiting for their siblings. More than once, Stiles had been growled at for staring too long at someone, but no matter how hard he tried to keep himself occupied, he couldn't help watching the wolves move around their homes. They looked the same as people in his village, and acted the same, but there was something just a little different about them that set them apart from others, even at first glance. It was fascinating. Stiles had so many questions, and no one willing to answer them.

He wasn’t sure yet which wolf was Nik’s real father—he had only watched from a distance, after all—but he knew that Niklaus was different from the rest of their siblings. He understood, because he felt different sometimes too, like his skin didn’t fit quite right on his body. He never told anybody about Niklaus because it would make his father angry, and he didn’t tell anyone about his own feelings for the same reason. Instead, he spent his time letting the people around him know that he loved them—Niklaus most of all.

<> <>

Everything changed the night they almost lost Henrik.

The harvest had been particularly good for that time of year, and everyone was in good spirits. Mikael had declared the day a holiday of sorts, and after the midday meal, left his children to their own devices. Bolstered by this unexpected bit of freedom, and with their mother's blessing, the four boys left to visit the wolves.

The day was clear, and surprisingly warm, so neither Henrik nor Stiles minded too much when their elder brothers (once again) left them behind. The two wandered into the nearby forest, playing tag and climbing trees until they had exhausted themselves. Two hours later, when Stiles suggested that a nap in the warm sunshine sounded like an excellent idea, his brother agreed wholeheartedly.

Stiles came awake to a setting sun and panic rising in his chest. Tonight was the full moon, and they were entirely too close to wolf territory for his peace of mind. He didn't know where Niklaus and Kol were, but he assumed that they had left for home, thinking that Henrik and Stiles were already there. Regardless, there wasn't time to find them. No matter how human werewolves acted most of the time, everyone knew to stay away from them during the full moon. The two boys needed to leave _now_ _._

Stiles shook his brother awake, pulling at Henrik's hand even before the other boy was fully aware of what was happening. He realized quickly that the two of them had moved further into the forest than he’d thought, and Stiles felt a trickle of unease at the knowledge that they wouldn't make it home before dark. Ignoring his brother's outraged questions, Stiles continued pulling Henrik along before his foot caught on a root, tripping him and giving his brother a chance to pull his arm away.

Henrik, oblivious to the full moon behind him, leveled Stiles with a glare. Stiles took a breath to explain himself, and then his brother was shouting and pushing Stiles out of the way.

And then there was screaming.

Stiles looked up to find a gaunt, mangy-looking wolf attacking his brother. It wasn't the beautiful, majestic creature that Stiles had imagined the wolves in the village to be; this creature looked half-dead and desperate, blue eyes shining in the moonlight. He had no doubt that it would kill the both of them. Without thinking, Stiles flung his hands out, and the wolf attacking his brother flew into a nearby tree with a thud. It didn’t get back up, or make a sound. Panicked, Stiles turned back to his brother. He scanned the area, looking for any light in the distance, or anything to help, but he didn't want to leave Henrik, who was screaming in pain.

“Oh God, oh God. Please don’t die.” Stiles could feel Henrik’s stuttering breaths as he pushed his hands to his brother’s chest. He hoped that his brother’s screams would bring help, even if the sounds made him want to throw up. He could vaguely hear shouting behind him, but it was drowned out by the rushing sound in his ears. His head pounded. Every sense narrowed down to focus on Henrik, and the weight of his hands on his brother. Stiles barely noticed the growing heat in his hands where they touched Henrik’s chest.

“St…Stiles…STILES!” That was Niklaus. Stiles wasn't sure when the others had come, but he couldn't focus on that now. He let the voices wash over him; he needed to worry about Henrik.

"Stiles, please let us look at him. You have to let us see.” He vaguely noticed people around him--wolves, he thought--and had a brief moment to wonder about the difference between these wolves and the one that had attacked them. He wanted to say something, but Niklaus (and Kol, too) had such trouble making friends that he decided not to mention it. He felt arms wrap around him and pull him to his feet, holding him tightly. As Niklaus and his friends looked over their brother, all Stiles could do was look at the blood on Henrik’s chest and think, ‘I killed him’.

He didn’t even try to stop it when his vision darkened and the ground rose up to meet him.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles woke to soft voices and fingers gently combing through his hair. Freya smiled down at him. “Everyone is fine. Go back to sleep.” So he did.

The next time Stiles opened his eyes, Henrik was sitting beside him, holding his hand. His face was red and splotchy, like he had been crying. Stiles didn't know why his brother would be crying, unless…

“Are we dead?” he asked. Stiles hoped not; he hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye to his family. Plus, he didn’t want to have to apologize for getting them both killed.

Henrik made a strange choking noise and glared at his brother. “No, you idiot. You saved me. It was you who almost died!” Henrik flung himself into a hug, sobbing, as Stiles rubbed his brother’s back and tried to figure out what had happened. Sure, he could convince Henrik to play with him every once in awhile, but hugging was another matter; Henrik was too old to hug his younger brother. Stiles tried to understand, but his head still felt a little floaty, so he fell asleep again before he got any answers.

The last time Stiles woke, he was sweating under the weight of his siblings, who had somehow managed to crowd themselves into bed with him during the night. He must have made some small noise, because someone--Rebekah, maybe--gripped his hand tightly.

“We were so worried about you. Mother wouldn’t let us see you for a while because of the magic.” Kol’s voice was soft in the darkness. “There was blood all over Henrik, and you wouldn’t wake up—“  
  
“It was terrifying.” Nik cut in. “Don’t do it again.”

The next morning, Stiles woke up feeling better, but still confused. He was allowed to get out of bed, but not leave the house. His siblings hovered until Mother forced them to leave, but each of them touched him before they left: a hug, a kiss, a squeeze of the shoulder. It made Stiles feel a bit better, though he was still nervous about what his mother had to say to him. Was he in trouble for letting Henrik get attacked? He was the one who had suggested the nap, after all.

Unsure of his welcome, Stiles hovered in the corner until his mother had finished her work and gently sat him down for a chat. It would be good, he hoped, because Stiles had lots of questions.

“My sweet boy,” she said, gathering his hands in hers, “What you did for your brother was unbelievable, and I am so proud of you.”

“Is Papa angry with me?” Stiles figured that he must be, since Stiles hadn’t seen him since before the accident. He hoped that Papa didn’t get angry at any of the others--they hadn't been the ones playing in the forest.

His mother scoffed before running her fingers through his hair. “Don’t you worry about him. You have a gift, and we’re going to make it stronger together, okay?”

"You mean magic?" Stiles remembered the heat in his hands as he touched his brother, Kol's comment in the dark. His mother nodded. “Can the others do it, too?" Maybe magic would make his father happy, and he wouldn't have to be so angry at Niklaus all the time.

Esther smiled at her son’s generous spirit. “Freya and Finn have the gift, but not as strongly as you. Kol is very bright as well; but you, my baby, have done what I thought was impossible. You glow like the sun. You will outshine us all.”

<> <>

Magic, Stiles found, did not make his father happy. The fact that his mother and three of his siblings were witches made no difference to him. Mikael was glad for Henrik's safety, but he was angry that they had gone to see the wolves, and angry that Stiles had almost let his brother be killed. No matter that Stiles was the youngest, or that he had tried to get them home in time, Stiles was somehow to blame for the entire situation.

Stiles tried not to let it bother him. He had saved Henrik's life, he knew. His mother loved him. His siblings loved him. His aunt loved him. Father didn't bother Nik so much anymore, either, so something good had come from the accident.

But if Stiles followed his father into the forest and asked him questions about the trees or the fish, his father would turn away. If Stiles stumbled over a branch, his father would not catch him. The first--the only--time Stiles had tried to use magic for his father, to heal a burn, his father had flinched from him. It was almost too much for Stiles to bear.

Esther worried for her youngest child. She knew that he could see the change in his father, could see his disdain for the spells and remedies that he and his siblings practiced. Mikael refused to allow his children to visit the wolves, or Ayana, or their Aunt Dahlia, and forbade them from practicing magic in the house. To his mind, he had almost lost his beloved son to some magical creature; he would not allow such dangerous and evil practices in his home, from his own children. And although his anti-magic crusade had shifted the focus away from Niklaus, the more controlling Mikael was, the more his children sought their freedom. Niklaus and Kol would still sneak away to visit their friends, Finn and Elijah would run off to wherever they went, and the girls would see their aunt. Unfortunately, this only increased their father’s fear for his children. As he grew harsher, they grew more rebellious. It was a vicious cycle that the family couldn’t break.

Stiles and the others practiced their magic in secret, with help from their mother. Esther despaired that Stiles could sense that his father feared him, but rather than put him off, it only made him try harder to regain his father’s affections. The young boy tried to lessen his father’s fears, to be the son his father wanted, but nothing seemed to work, and no amount of kisses from Freya or hugs from Elijah could make things better.

By the time Stiles was thirteen, Mikael had stopped acknowledging his children, save Freya and Henrik. He ignored the others, and avoided Stiles. Gone was the happy boy who lovingly annoyed his siblings; in his place was a sad shadow of a young man who took his father’s rejection to heart. The questions that had burst out of him as a child were pushed down under the somber wraith he had become. Stiles knew that his mother and his siblings loved him, and watched him with concern. Even the villagers that had huffed and rolled their eyes at his childhood antics watched him with pity when they thought he couldn't see.

He didn't go back to see the wolves.

Stiles's powers continued to grow despite his reluctance to practice, and it was only fear of hurting those around him that drove him to excellence. Knowledge was important, skill was essential, so he learned as much as his heart would allow. He would practice often in the forest, only to feel guilty about doing magic at all. His mother's pride wasn't enough to outweigh his father's scorn.

Despite the warmth that magic gave him, that practicing with his siblings created, he worried that his father would hurt the others for protecting him. His father had never touched any of them in anger, not even Stiles, but he sometimes got a look in his eyes that reminded Stiles too much of the wolf in the forest. So, at sixteen, he made a choice. Slowly, so slowly, he pulled away from them all. He stopped seeking out his siblings. He stopped learning magic with his mother, Freya, Finn, and Kol. He stopped speaking altogether.

Stiles only realized how distant he had already grown from his siblings when it only took a few weeks for them to get used to the new, silent Stiles. It hurt, but it was necessary. If he wanted to make his family happy again, he needed to leave. If he was gone, his father would be happy again, and then everyone else could be happy, too.

That night at supper, Stiles watched his siblings chat around him, committing every detail of them to memory--Rebekah's laugh, Freya's eyes, Kol's smirk, Finn's hands, Nik's smile, Elijah's voice--to carry with him. He helped his mother after the meal, and gave her a soft smile when she looked his way, and stayed awake to hear Finn whisper to Elijah and Freya about some spell he had tried the day before. After everyone had fallen asleep, Stiles laid there listening to his family breathe for a little while before he got up, took one last look at the people he loved, and walked silently into the woods.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles never meant to go back to that village. Even though he knew in his heart that the people of the village were not responsible for what happened to Henrik, he was afraid of the damage he might do if he accidentally lashed out with his magic; which would make him no better than the animal that had attacked his brother.

Still, after he had left his family home, his feet took him to the last place he thought he would ever go. The moon wasn't nearly full, but Stiles was still apprehensive as he stood in the place where Nik and Kol had often left him during their visits to their friends. Crossing into the village, stepping over that invisible line that had separated him from the wolves, felt strange but good. He walked through the sleeping village until he came to a home at the center of the square. He knocked before he could think better of it. Though it was the middle of the night, the door opened almost immediately to reveal a tall, dark-haired man with deep grey eyes. He and the dark-haired child next to him stared at Stiles, as if surprised to be woken by a stranger in the middle of the night. Which, Stiles supposed, was a reasonable reaction, because he wasn't sure why he had woken them in the first place. Fortunately, just as the staring was about to get awkward, the little girl grabbed his hand and pulled him inside.

Before he really knew what was happening, he was sitting in a chair, holding a cup of tea. The man sat across from him, holding his own cup, while the girl stood in the corner, glaring at him. The man sat quietly for a few minutes as if to give Stiles a chance to put his thoughts in order. Unfortunately, Stiles had no idea what was going on, but he appreciated the opportunity anyway.

"Do you know where you are?" the man asked.

Stiles didn't know if referring to this place as “the werewolf village” would be rude or not, so he settled for nodding.

"Do you know who I am?"

No, he didn't. He didn't know why the man was being nice to him, or why the girl was glaring when she was the one who had pulled him inside, or why he was here at all. The more he thought about it, the harder his heart pounded. Now that he thought about it, his head hurt, too.

The man, evidently sensing Stiles's anxiety, gently pulled the boy into a hug. Stiles startled when he felt the girl's arms go around him as well. "Does Niklaus know you're here?" His heart pounded harder. He tried to pull away, but the wolves held on even tighter.

"Shh," the man soothed, rubbing his arms. "You don't have to speak to us, we understand. We won't tell him you're here." He pulled away to study Stiles's face, but the girl kept clinging. "You'll rest now," he said, leading the boy to a bed. "Everything will be better in the morning, you’ll see."

And like a candle that had been snuffed out, Stiles slept.

Stiles woke feeling like someone had dropped a boulder on him. His head still throbbed, but his bones ached as if he had worked hard the day before. It didn't make sense--all he had really done was abandoned his family.

"Becoming a man is hard work, too, you know." Stiles blinked, but didn't respond. Leaving your family was not something a man would do, even for good reasons.

"Stiles." He looked up, surprised that the man knew his name. "Everyone knows about Niklaus's inquisitive little brother." A ghost of a smile graced the man’s face. "He speaks of you often. Kol, too."

Breakfast was placed in front of him, and Stiles's stomach growled appreciatively. He dug in, hoping to put off what would likely be a painful conversation a bit longer. Unfortunately, the man must have already eaten, because he just kept talking.

"My name is Ansel. I'm the Alpha here." At Stiles's nod, he continued, "Ayana told me you would be coming, and that we should help you. And so we shall." A fond smile crossed his face. "We would have anyway, simply for Niklaus's sake. I'll take you to visit her when you're feeling better."

Stiles was grateful for the hospitality, but he hesitated. Ayana was a good friend of his mother's. What if she forced him to go home? "She won't force you to go home," the Alpha said, echoing his thoughts. "It's a hard, hard choice you've made, leaving your family. I suspect it's heartache that's making you sick, but we'll see what Ayana has to say. You should rest. Ivy will bring you food later."

Ivy turned out to be the girl from the night before. She was by turns incredibly playful and extremely moody, in a way that Stiles suspected only nine-year old werewolves could be. She woke him for his meal with a huff and a growl, only to burst into tears when Stiles asked her why she hated him so much. Twenty minutes later, she was curled up in his lap sobbing about how she would be his sister since he'd lost his family. Stiles had no choice but to accept the offer.

A week after Stiles had shown up at Ansel's in the middle of the night, Stiles was closer to the members of Ansel's pack than he had been to the residents of his own village. Ivy and the other children frequently sought him out to play games, and he found he enjoyed casting minor spells for their amusement. Stiles could hardly walk through the village without Ivy hanging off of him like a particularly persistent monkey, the rest of the children following behind. The women of the village were very appreciative of his unintentional babysitting services and were, to Stiles's delight, paying him with all manner of delicious treats. The men greeted him happily as well, grateful for extra time with their wives. They taught him how to fight werewolves and other creatures, how to build shelter and find plants to eat when game was scarce. It was a bit like having a dozen sets of parents, all looking out for him.

Stiles had worried about seeing his brothers, lest they drop by unexpectedly (the ability to do the unexpected was a talent _all_ of his siblings possessed), but Ansel promised him that that neither of his brothers would be allowed in the village while he was there, and each of his brothers' friends had been threatened with violence if they mentioned anything to the Mikaelsons. What Ansel didn't mention--because it would only upset Stiles--was that the family was too consumed with grief at the moment to travel. Even Mikael, who had driven his son away, was mourning the loss of his youngest child. Ansel's pack, however, continued happily, committed to keeping their charge's thoughts from the loss of his family.

Twelve days after his arrival in Ansel's village, amidst tearful goodbyes from the pack, the Alpha took him to see Ayana. Stiles promised Ivy and the others that he would be back to show them even better spells, vowed to his surrogate parents that he would be well, and went to see his mother's friend.

<> <>

Ayana was a powerful witch, and Stiles wasn't surprised to see her waiting for the two of them when they reached her home. She greeted Stiles, then Ansel, warmly, and then told the Alpha that he should return in five days to pick up his charge. The Alpha took the order good-naturedly, pulling Stiles into a tight hug before disappearing back into the forest.

Stiles knew Ayana, of course, and had seen her many times before, but she stared at him now like she could see into his soul, and he squirmed under the scrutiny. Suddenly, she pulled him into a hug that left him breathless before leading him into her home.

As soon as they were inside, she embraced him again. "My poor, poor boy," she said, stroking his hair, "so far to go. Still," she perked up slightly, "you will find great joy as well as sorrow. Promise me, Stiles, that you will not give up."

Stiles said the only thing he could: "I promise."

Ayana spent five days together teaching Stiles everything she could about witches and magic, often waking him before dawn to make the most of their time together. They practiced spells and potions, and Ayana told him stories of other powerful witches. It was so similar to his routine at home that Stiles spent thirty minutes sobbing into Ayana's shoulder when he recognized the parallel. The witch rocked him in silence, then proceeded to keep him so busy that he fell into bed exhausted every night.

On their fourth day together, Ayana told him about the spell to make his siblings immortal.

She had long shared Stiles’s concerns about his father, but she told him that his mother tread dangerous ground as well. Her obsession with magic, Ayana warned, was unsafe for both her and her children. If the immortality spell was cast, Stiles and his siblings would become monsters that thirsted for blood and violence.

“If we die,” Stiles asked Ayana with concern, “what will happen to our magic?”

Ayana hummed, considering. “You might stay sane. But Freya, Finn, and Kol would not do well. Finn and Kol, especially, I believe would suffer, and resent their new situation, being cut off from their magic. I also worry that Niklaus would have a difficult time, considering the generally hot-headed nature of werewolves. This spell will change you all, and not for the better. As I told your mother, it will create a plague that will spread across the world.”

“Is there any way I can stop it?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she replied sadly. She grasped the boy's hands tightly when he moved to turn away. "I am so sorry for your suffering." Stiles had a feeling that she wasn't talking about the past. "It's difficult to see, but you are doing a good thing. In order to save your family, you must get stronger. In order to get stronger, you must leave them, at least for now."

Stiles spent hours looking through Ayana’s grimoire, trying to find anything that would save his siblings. Rather than return to the pack, on the fifth day Stiles asked Ansel to escort him to his aunt's house. His Aunt Dahlia was delighted to see him, but concurred with Ayana that there was no way to stop the spell. He asked his aunt not to tell anyone where he was, and breathed a sigh of relief when she agreed to keep his secret. He spent the next two days frantically searching for answers.

The day before the spell, Stiles visited his aunt one last time. “If Kol and Freya and Finn could stay as witches, and they needed to escape our parents, would you take them in and teach them?”

“Of course.”

“Also, Ayana said the others will become monsters, but I think that if they work together, the witches can help anchor the monsters, so don’t let the others run away either.”

“And what will happen to you? Where will you go?"

Stiles hesitated, unwilling to meet his aunt's eyes. “The pack has taught me a lot, and Ayana has, too. It will be hard, but you don't need to worry about me." If he stayed, he would try to stop the spell, so he would keep his promise to Ayana and go as far away from his family as possible.

When Stiles finally gathered the courage to look up, he was surprised to see tears in his aunt's eyes. She embraced him warmly. “Your mother was right," she said proudly. "You already outshine us all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: the next three chapters in this fic, and maybe a little something else.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Three days after Stiles left his aunt's house, he felt his mother cast the immortality spell. Stiles quickly fulfilled his promise to Ivy, briefly returning to the village and showing off some new skills, but he barely had time to visit the pack before he left again. No one knew exactly what would happen when the spell was cast, despite his interference, and Stiles didn't want to place anyone in danger if he lost his magic and became a monster.

He was grateful to be far away from his home when the spell happened, because the screaming alone would have certainly alerted his parents to his location. The next few days were a blur of colors and sounds; the only thing he knew for certain was that when he finally came back to himself a week later, he had traveled hundreds of miles. He was grateful to have escaped his parents, but he was terrified of being so far away from everything he had ever known, with no one to help him. He made the only choice he could: he swallowed his fear and went out to make his place in the world.

Things were difficult for a long time. Despite everything that his family, and the pack, and Ayana had taught him, he was still a boy alone in unfamiliar territory. He avoided other people, not knowing exactly how his mother's spell affected him, and not wanting to endanger anyone if his parents found him. He managed to find shelter easily enough, but food was harder to manage (and hunting often reminded him of feral werewolves in the dark), so he mostly trapped small game for meat, and ate plants and berries as the seasons allowed.

Sometimes, Stiles could feel his mother's spell, heavy like lead in his bones. On those days, he would carefully pack his precious belongings--his grimoire and a few rare herbs--and walk to wherever the magic led. He listened to the trees, and the rocks, and the stars, and they became his friends. He occasionally came across people like himself, lost and alone, but made no real effort to connect with them. He remembered his promise to Ayana, and kept going.

A decade had passed before Stiles truly came back into the world. His time alone had taught him much, but Stiles was a social creature at heart and he missed the sounds of people going about their days. He followed his magic to a small village at the edge of a clear lake. He built his home on the far side, letting them accept or reject him at their leisure.

It was a painful transition. Stiles knew intimately the nuances of the flora and fauna around him, but had long lost the subtleties of dealing with humanity. He was awkward and uncomfortable, and much preferred the bluntness and sparkling eyes of the children to the sly, wary glances of the adults.

He explained to the first brave youngsters to visit that he was a witch, but he definitely didn't eat children. _"If I ate anybody, it would be adults." "Why? Is it because adults are bigger and have more meat on their bones?" "No, I simply like children better. Adults are irritating."_

It only took a few days for each of the children to introduce themselves, most having snuck away from the village proper to see "the wild witch" as the adults called him. He fashioned baubles out of bits of stone, carved with symbols for health and protection and unity, and gave them to the children as gifts. He showed them the same small magics he had shown the pack's children, this group just as delighted as the last. He told them stories that he had learned as a child, and they, in turn, told him stories about their lives.

Days turned into weeks, and still the children visited him; it was quite common for him to have at least one guest from sunup to sundown. The adults of the village, however, he rarely saw, and he was surprised that he hadn't been driven off for corrupting the youth.

He finally commented on it one day, until one of the older girls rolled her eyes and said, "Alpha said you couldn't hurt anyone, and to leave you in peace." She munched on an apple that she had not-so-surreptitiously stolen from the basket on Stiles's table. "Plus, Zaina told Alpha to mind his own business." Stiles's eyebrows rose, and he was sure his heart beat a little faster, but he said nothing. After all, his magic had led him to Ansel and Ivy; what were a few more werewolves in his life?

The next morning seemed to bring a greater concentration of young people than normal, carrying food or drinks (or smaller children), setting up an unexpected picnic on Stiles's end of the lake. The older ones let the youngest loose to play, while the rest began to ply him with more food than he would normally eat in a week. Aware of the fragile egos of the young, Stiles ate a bit of everything, crowing with delight every time he tried something new. Eventually, he convinced everyone to sit because "surely he needed an army to consume such a massive feast". The smiles he received were blinding.

The food had just been finished when the older children stilled, turning to watch two people walk the path to his home. The man was tall, and thin, but carried himself with authority. He seemed surprised by the number of children loitering around Stiles's home, if the downturn of his lips was any indication, but the woman, with her white-blond hair and cornflower eyes, simply smiled brightly before claiming a spot in the grass. The children were upon her almost immediately.

"My name is Marcus, and this is my wife Zaina," the man said, pointing to the woman who was working to embrace every child. "We have come to speak to you about why you are here."

"I understand." And he did; he completely understood the need to protect one's home. The children had finished crawling on Zaina, and many were eyeing him with renewed interest, squirming in their seats. "I'll stay until my magic takes me elsewhere."

"How did you get them all to sit still? You _must_ tell me your secret," the woman asked, eyes twinkling.

At that moment, one of the littlest wolves threw himself at Stiles, growling playfully and attempting to climb him like a tree. "It was just a brief respite, obviously," he said, hefting the boy with a laugh. Other children soon joined the tussle, grumbling and grabbing until Stiles was at the bottom of a pile of small werewolves. Stiles loudly complained about heavy, wriggling were-children, but made no attempt to move.

Eventually, Zaina sent the children home with promises that they could see Stiles again tomorrow. Marcus, who had watched the children with sort of a confused amusement as if unsure of how to handle them, settled his face into what Stiles assumed was supposed to be an intimidating expression.

Generally, when Ansel had done that, it meant that things were not going as expected; he got the impression that this Alpha was also used to being in control. Well, it would cost him nothing to be polite. "Would you care to go inside?"

Marcus looked ready to accept this welcome bit of order before his wife broke in. "We will be just fine out here," she said, giving her husband a look that brought him scrambling to sit beside her. "You're just not what we expected."

"I didn't know you expected me at all."

Marcus let out a small growl that was rendered completely ineffective when his wife pinched him on the arm. "We haven't had good dealings with witches," he stated flatly.

Stiles turned to Zaina with a frown. "You're not a witch?"

"Of a sort. I think the better term would be emissary. I will teach you."

Marcus huffed in obvious displeasure, but said, "You are welcome to stay on pack lands as long as you do not harm any of my people. You have my word as Alpha."

"I don't think you have a choice," Zaina said, smirking. "I think the little ones would be quite cross with you if you sent him away."


	5. Chapter 5

As it turned out, emissaries were quite different than witches. They kept no grimoires, but relied on strength of will to channel their magic. They kept journals of their lives and detailed records of the creatures they encountered, and often mediated between disparate groups.

When Stiles told Zaina that he wasn't interested in becoming an emissary, and couldn't possibly tie himself to a pack, she merely patted his shoulder and handed him another journal to read. Stiles, who was never one to turn away from free information, poured over everything she gave him.

Stiles's reluctance to train as an emissary didn't seem to bother Zaina at all. She freely shared her knowledge, and his initial hesitance to learn about her magic was soon swept away by his need to understand. Soon, his days were spent entertaining children and and honing his skills, often at the same time.

Most times, Stiles found that the children provided both good journal filler and test of will.

(At night, Stiles thought of the immortality spell, and wondered if perhaps his siblings were in need of an emissary themselves; they had bickered more than enough when they were all still human. He hoped that they were all together.)

Zaina was smart and kind, like Ayana, but she possessed a playful exuberance that reminded him of Kol. She took pains to visit him daily, sharing her knowledge and experience. Their conversations would flit from topic to topic, and Stiles found himself enjoying the emissary's company immensely. Marcus sometimes came as well, though Stiles suspected that was done more to placate his wife than out of any desire to help Stiles.

"You're telling me that I should light the candle with my mind?"

Marcus snickered at him from the corner, less than impressed with Stiles's candle-lighting abilities. To be fair, Stiles had been attempting this particular trick for the last two hours with nothing to show for it, so the snickering was probably justified.

"It's not as difficult as you think. Just relax," Zaina said soothingly.

Which, of course, was a silly thing to say, because now Stiles could definitely not relax. In fact, all of this relaxing he was trying was giving him a headache. Maybe if he put his head down and closed his eyes, both of them would leave, and take that infernal candle with them.

"Maybe you should give up magic and take up gardening," Marcus said, ignoring the warning glare from his wife. Stiles shrugged, but pictured in his mind the Alpha's house being eaten by thorny vines, just for fun.

The very next day, Marcus couldn't come within fifty feet of Stiles's home; a patch of purple flowers had bloomed, completely surrounding the house overnight. Discovering that the Alpha couldn't move through the patch of wolfsbane made Stiles laugh so hard, his chest hurt. Zaina cackling and jumping from one side of the line of flowers to the other didn't help.

"I guess he shouldn't have insulted gardeners,” was all the emissary said.

<> <>

Things got a little easier after the flower incident. The flowers went away again overnight, and Stiles seemed to have tentatively gained the Alpha's respect, if not his friendship. The rest of the pack largely ignored him, but they were congenial enough if he crossed paths with them, and the Alpha's grudging acceptance led to even more rambunctious visits from the children, which Stiles had not previously thought possible. He loved it, though; it was more than he could've asked for when he wandered into their territory all those months ago.

Most of Stiles's time, despite his ardent visitors, was spent with Zaina. He never did manage to light the candle, but over the months he discovered that he could grow almost any plant, under any condition. He read Zaina's journal and studied every piece of information in her bestiary. They debated, _"How do you know trolls are dangerous?" "Look at the picture!" "Just because it's big and ugly doesn't make it a killer." "If I was that ugly, I'd feel homicidal!"_ And argued, _"You will wear that coat if I have to sit on you." "I'll burn it off." "How? You can't even light a candle."_ And played,  _"Help me, Zaina! I'm buried under a pile of heavy monkeys!" "Hey, we're not monkeys, we're wolves!"_

Stiles continued to write in his own journal and read the bestiary, but he knew that he would never see most of the creatures detailed in the book if he stayed in his home by the lake.

He could feel his powers shifting and stretching, like a bird waiting to hatch. Then one day, his palms started tingling while he was practicing with the emissary. When he opened his clasped hands to reveal a delicate, pink blossom, Zaina cried.

For a week after, every time he felt the stir of magic, he would cup his hands and create blossoms--different sizes, shapes, and colors--and give them to the women and children of the village as tokens of good fortune.

Six months later, Stiles began to feel the tug in his stomach that told him it was time to leave. He ignored it at first, content with Zaina and the children and his home by the lake. It didn't feel like family--not like Ansel's pack had--but it was good.

It wasn't enough.

Stiles thought that he had been doing a decent job of hiding his discomfort until Marcus, of all people, pulled him aside. "You can always come back, you know."

Stiles was surprised; he had always assumed that the Alpha barely tolerated him. His expression must have said as much, because Marcus laughed. "I like you fine. You have to admit, when you first came here, you were hardly fit company. I have to watch out for my pack."

"I don't know where I'm going," he said honestly.

"That's all right, most people don't."

Two days later, his home was overrun by children, once again carrying food or drinks (or smaller children); this time, with Marcus and Zaina in tow. The picnic was long, and loud, and lasted until well past supper. The youngest wolves crawled all over him while the older ones pressed him for stories and magic. When it came time to leave, Stiles was hugged so long and so well that he could still feel the arms around him days later (and he had the bruises to prove it).

Stiles debated leaving under the cover of night, to spare everyone the pain of goodbye, but instead left at first light, leaving behind a surprisingly large group of well-wishers. Zaina kissed him on the cheek and punched him for good measure; it reminded Stiles so much of Rebekah that he smiled even through his tears.

For the first time, Stiles walked away with peace in his heart and a sense of rightness in his bones.


	6. Chapter 6

The first few decades after the immortality spell was cast were difficult for the rest of the Mikaelson siblings as well. The rage that Mikael had felt at the witches was eclipsed only by the disgust he held for the vampires, the abominations that he had helped create. Esther was no better, the once compassionate woman effectively abandoning her children to support her husband's thirst for vengeance against the monsters her children had supposedly become.

The siblings were surprised, then, at the unlikely allies they had to support them, including their Aunt Dahlia and Ayana. Dahlia had whisked the witches away from their parents days after the spell, leaving Elijah, Niklaus, and Rebekah to Ayana's care. The siblings were sad to be losing that last piece of familiarity in their lives, but they were also relieved to not be left to their parents' tender mercies any longer.

The early months after the change were by far the most difficult. Dahlia and Ayana would not let the siblings see each other, and Niklaus in particular had trouble coping with so many changes in his life. More than once, he, Elijah, or Rebekah escaped Ayana's charge to run rampant through the countryside. Somehow, though, one of the werewolves was always there to stop them from mauling or draining unsuspecting villagers.

As predicted, the curse was hardest on Niklaus. Becoming a vampire had both heightened his emotions and triggered his werewolf heritage, and Ansel was called in after his third temper tantrum nearly destroyed Ayana's home.

Seeing Ayana standing in the ruins of her sanctuary, especially after all she had done for them, filled Nik with shame. But rather than get angry, Ayana embraced him tightly, whispering soothing words in his ears that he felt he didn't deserve.

He ran.

Two hours and a dozen dark thoughts later, he heard a familiar voice behind him. "I told someone else not too long ago that it isn't easy becoming a man. It seems that you could use the same advice." The Alpha gave him a tired smile.

"Excuse me?"

"Your mother didn't want me to be a part of your life, and I honored her wishes, but you managed to find me anyway. I like to think that fate had a hand in that. I wish you wouldn't spend time with Abram's sons, though. They're idiots."

Ansel watched the words sink in, recognition rolling across his face. "You're my father," he whispered, mostly to himself. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"As I said, I honored your mother's wishes," he continued, "and I did not want to make things more difficult between you and Mikael. Come now. You'll stay with me for a few days. I'll officially introduce you to your sister Ivy."

The revelation that Ansel was Niklaus's father was a blessing to the three vampires, who were still having control issues and were not allowed to see the others. The pack now openly followed the siblings about, and were instrumental in convincing Ayana to give them a bit more freedom. Ansel acted as a mentor to each of them, teaching them to control their heightened senses and emotions, and offering comfort when needed.

By the time Ayana and Dahlia brought the vampires and the witches together for the first time in months, Elijah, Niklaus, and Rebekah--although still dangerous and rather temperamental--were much better prepared to be reunited with their siblings.

<> <>

It was over a century after the spell had been cast that Stiles saw his siblings again, and the circumstances could not have been worse. A ghoul had been terrorizing a mountain village and one of the local witches had asked Stiles for help in getting rid of it. He didn't usually go around hunting monsters, but Stiles had agreed, because what good were his skills if he never used them to help others?

He had tracked the ghoul to a local tavern when he heard the sounds of fighting, then a scream. He reached the alley in time to see the ghoul crouched over the crumpled form of a young woman wrapped in a black cape.

Stiles ran at the ghoul, his staff lifted to bludgeon it to death if necessary to get it to move away from its victim. Without hesitation, Stiles struck the monster, dodging claws and fangs as he delivered the blows. The runes on his staff flared eagerly to life, but Stiles drew back, unwilling to draw more supernatural creatures to the area.

Unfortunately, this ghoul must have fed recently, because it was strong enough to toss him to the ground, fangs bared. Not wanting into fight any longer than necessary, he decided he'd just have to risk the attention that magic would bring. Stiles grabbed the staff, runes glowing brightly, and stabbed it into the monster's stomach with a flare of power. It fell, and with another twist of the staff, disintegrated into dust. Breathing a sigh of relief, he scooped the woman into his arms, catching a glimpse of golden locks beneath the cape as he carried her into the tavern.

The woman still hadn't stirred by the time Stiles had rented and taken her to a room. It hadn't taken him that long to reach the alley after the scream, he reasoned, and he hadn't seen any blood, but he was starting to get concerned that she hadn't woken. Although really, he should have been grateful for the reprieve--explaining the supernatural to an ordinary person was a dangerous prospect. He had no idea how much of the ghoul the woman had seen, but he certainly wasn't going to be responsible for dragging this poor woman into the world of monsters if he could help it.

With a sigh, he placed her carefully on the bed, then moved to untangle the covering from around her face.

 _Rebekah_.

Stiles stumbled back so fast he nearly knocked over the stool next to the bed. She looked sharper somehow, but still peaceful in sleep. He wanted to touch her, hold her hand, but it would be torturous for them both if she woke to find him there. Besides, as soon as she woke up, she would be fine.

He hovered a while longer, torn between wanting to speak with her and needing to leave before she woke. He smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her blanket a half dozen times before he strengthened his resolve and walked out of the tavern without looking back--

Only to stumble into Niklaus not twenty steps from the tavern. The range of emotions that played over his brother's face when he recognized Stiles was comical--surprise, concern, relief--before his eyes narrowed in anger. He had caught the scent of their sister's perfume, then.

His brother snarled, using vampire speed to throw him to the ground. "What did you do?"

"Hello, to you too, brother," he said, trying to push the vampire away without hurting him. "She's fine. There was a ghoul, but it's gone. She's inside resting."

"Thank you for saving her," Elijah said, suddenly standing at the edge of Stiles's vision.

 _When had Elijah gotten there_?

"Save her," Niklaus roared, punching Stiles, "he's the one that brought this curse upon us! We wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for him."

"I'm sorry," Stiles said quietly, making no move to dodge the blows.

"How could you abandon us? It was you who drove Mother to cast the spell that turned us into monsters!"

"Niklaus, please do not do this," Elijah yelled, though he made no move to come closer.

"You are a traitor to our family, and if I ever see you again, I will kill you." Niklaus slammed his head into the ground and stars burst behind his eyes, and everything went black.

Stiles woke up a day later in the home of the witch who had called him to town. He didn't even wait for her to pay him before he left the area as quickly as possible.

<> <>

Niklaus had worked himself into a fine rage by the time he and his siblings had returned to the home where their Aunt Dahlia now lived. He tried centering himself with thoughts of his loved ones--Freya and Finn, Elijah and Rebekah, Kol and Henrik, Dahlia and Ayana, Ansel and Ivy--but he felt a sense of overwhelming betrayal that his youngest brother had hidden from them for so long. It was their youngest brother's disappearance that had driven their parents to use the immortality spell in the first place, a spell which had torn their lives and their family apart.

When Stiles had fled their home, Niklaus and the others had feared that their brother had perished; even their father had seemed shaken by the loss. For a while, Niklaus had hoped that Stiles's disappearance would bring the family back together; instead, it had made his parents obsessed with protecting their remaining children from death, no matter the cost.

After the siblings had gained control of their abilities, they had left their home, fleeing Mikael and Esther, and leaving Ayana and the pack behind. Things were difficult, but Freya and Finn were solid, steady anchors for their siblings, and Kol and Henrik continued to learn from their aunt. Stiles's name was rarely spoken of with anything other than regret, often in hushed tones under the cover of darkness, on the cusp of sleep; now, seeing him again stirred up equal parts anger and guilt in the hybrid, which he willingly shared with those around him.

Dahlia watched him impassively for a few moments as he raged. "Did you know that your mother was afraid of your brother's power?" she finally asked.

"What?"

"She was proud of the power of your bloodline, but she also feared it. The spell was horrible, yes, but it was better than the alternative."

"And what would that be?” Niklaus sneered. He didn't want to be comforted; he wanted to stay angry.

Dahlia paused, considering. "Stiles pulled away from your parents to save himself, that's true. But he also pulled away from you to save you."

"WHAT?"

"Your father would have killed Stiles. He might have regretted it later, but the deed would be done regardless. The spell would have still happened, but with far more devastating results."

"What do you mean?"

"Stiles worked for days to find a way to help you keep your magic," she said, nodding at the witches. "Do you want to know what would have happened if all of you had become vampires? Freya and Henrik would be dead. Finn would be mad with despair and self-loathing. Elijah and Rebekah would be increasingly dispassionate and aloof, and you and Kol would be little more than calculating, bloodthirsty killers. He saved you the only way he knew how."

"We let him push us away," Henrik said softly into the hush that followed. He regretted more than anyone that he had let Stiles distance himself from them; he had become quiet and introspective, frequently burying himself in books and potions to avoid squabbling with the others.

"You gave him what he needed,” their aunt assured them.

"Did he look well?" Henrik asked. "He doesn't have the family as an anchor like the rest of us. I wonder what he uses?"

"I only saw him for a few moments, but he seemed well enough," Elijah said. "At least, until Niklaus beat him and left him lying in the street."

Rebekah's face clouded with anger. "Why would you do such a thing?"

"I was trying to protect us," Niklaus yelled, though he seemed less certain now. His siblings rewarded him with impassive looks.

"He saved my life," Rebekah added. "We should go back for him." She honestly couldn't believe how stupid her brother was acting right now.

Their aunt shook her head sadly. "You won't find him now, I'm afraid. It was chance that let your paths cross. He will hide for as long as he can from your parents, even if that means avoiding you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: the next three chapters; plus, the arrival of Lydia and a few other familiar faces.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

The next two hundred years were spent traveling and dodging his siblings, who seemed to appear all over Europe with frightening ease. More than once, he needed to make a quick exit because Freya or Finn had come to visit one of his friends or mentors. He had walked out of the middle of a party once because he thought he had heard Kol's laugh from across the room.

Stiles's time with Marcus's pack had helped him adjust to people, and although he preferred to live on the outskirts of villages and towns, he frequently found himself chatting with whomever he came across. He felt like he had as a child, when he found out everything about the people around him, simply through observation and polite conversation. It was a surprisingly good feeling. He realized that he enjoyed knowing that Edward the stonemason had two troublemaking toddlers and a colicky baby, or that John the falconer had secretly named his newest bird Susan after his beloved mother.

(He never stayed too long in one place, unsure of the reception he might get from any Mikaelson he came across, but he always left behind people who were sad to see him leave.)

Stiles met Lydia in Austria where, at her father's urging, she was using her wits (and her wiles) to tempt a prominent Baron into marriage. Stiles happened to be visiting the estate as a guest of a friend of the Baron, and found himself intrigued by the girl, seeking her out to observe her seduction in action. It was obvious that Lydia and the Baron were in no way compatible: he was more than twice her age, unattractive and dumb as a rock. Still, the Baron was obviously flattered by her company and enchanted by her beauty, and seemed perfectly willing to doom them both to a miserable marriage for a pretty face. Lydia, on the other hand, was intelligent and cunning, though she hid it well. She blushed and sighed, all the while rolling her eyes when she thought no one was looking. The situation irked Stiles, and the more Stiles spoke to Lydia, the less amusing he found the girl's empty-headed persona.

Finally, Stiles could take it no longer, and he took her aside to convince her that the wonders of magic and the thrill of travel outweighed the comfortable but mind-numbing boredom she would feel with the Baron. Also, her father was an ass.

They were on the road less than a fortnight later, and had been together ever since. For the next few centuries, the pair traveled throughout Europe and Asia, learning math and science and art and magic from anyone who would teach them. They fought trolls and befriended pixies, negotiated with shifters and banished poltergeists. It was complicated, messy, and thrilling, but never boring.

The assassination of Archduke Ferdinand and the outbreak of war gave Lydia an excellent, if macabre, way to test her magic. Lydia had expressed an interest in this “war to end all wars”, and, intent on mastering her banshee abilities, insisted that they should help as much as possible in such a dire situation. At the very least, they could ease the suffering of the dying, and perhaps save some lives as well. Between the two of them, she reasoned, they could do great things even on the battlefield.

The fighting was dirty, unforgiving, and desperate, and Lydia tested her abilities much more often than they would have liked. After failing to save so many boys, it was only the pair's stubbornness kept them in France long enough to meet Scott.

Unfortunately, a rogue alpha decided that the bloody battlefield was just the place to build a pack, preying on desperate, frightened boys far from home.

Stiles met Scott on the battlefield of Verdun. It was luck that had led Stiles to the fallen soldier; the wolf had already made three unsuccessful bites, and Stiles and Lydia were taking the time to comb the area, searching for survivors. They found Scott lying nonsensically between two other boys who hadn't survived the most recent battle. The boy was suffering under the hardships of war as much as a werewolf bite, and Stiles and Lydia patiently nursed him back to health, giving him food, shelter, and a safe place to roam as he tested his new abilities.

Months later, the trio tracked the Alpha to Somme, where they rescued two more boys, Boyd and Jackson. Lydia and Scott took care of their new charges while Stiles killed the beast that had been presumptuous enough to create even more bloodshed in a time of war. The next few months were filled with Scott, Jackson, and Boyd learning how to be werewolves, and Stiles and Lydia learning how to let three more people into their lives. It was a difficult transition for all of them.

Three newly turned werewolves led to multiple close calls, and both Stiles and Lydia bore the scars to prove it. Stiles's experience with Ansel's and Marcus's pack proved invaluable, and Lydia's quick thinking and judicious application of magic had helped cement the bonds between the wolves and the witches.

Stiles and Lydia worked to teach the wolves control and help them return to their families, only to discover that none of the boys had homes to return to. Scott had been abandoned by his father, Jackson neglected by his parents, and Boyd's family had perished in an accident only a year prior. They would rather, they said, stay with the witches who had saved them, instead of trying to survive alone in the world. Even if that meant that they occasionally fought monsters.

Thirteen months after the rogue alpha's death, the small pack moved to America, intent on settling down (at least for the moment), and enjoying peace.

<> <>

Of course, things weren't always easy. Stiles was both intelligent and powerful, but the ghost of his family's rejection popped up at inconvenient times, such as when they were dealing with vampires. Or witches. Or people with siblings.

Lydia's calculating pragmatism could falter in the face of a domineering man.

Scott's eternal optimism could blind him to danger.

Boyd often said too little, and Jackson never learned not to speak if he didn't have anything nice to say.

For the most part, the pack tried to stay under the supernatural radar. Stiles kept a casual eye on Ivy's descendants, but otherwise stayed out of magical drama. The pack didn't look for trouble, but never hesitated to defend themselves or those who might be in danger. The Martin pack (Stiles and Lydia had started using the innocuous surname as soon as such things came into fashion) was ridiculously careful around most witches (they were usually terrible gossips), and avoided vampires almost entirely, but Stiles still researched and planned behind the scenes to help as much as possible in those cases, and the pack never dismissed anyone based on their supernatural origins. People who knew where to look came to them for assistance with spells or potions, or whatever else was needed.

Stiles's ingenuity and kindness drew all kinds of people to him, creating loyal allies from people of all persuasions and walks of life.

Lydia's keen mind and uncompromising attitude called to the brilliant and curious, allowing the pack to continuously expand its knowledge of the supernatural.

Scott's warmth and unshakable faith in the goodness of others had turned more than one potential enemy into a friend.

Boyd's steadiness and quiet humor bolstered the pack when they were struggling.

Jackson's open disdain for almost everyone hid a fragile heart which translated into willingness to do absolutely anything to protect his loved ones.

Those that watched the Martin pack knew of their wanderlust and respected their desire for anonymity (but everyone knew that their reputation followed them anyway).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the curious, there were two reasons why I chose to name the pack Martin instead of Stilinski. First, in my opinion, the surname Martin is much less conspicuous than Stilinski, making it easier for them to stay under the radar. Second, I had originally planned for Sheriff Stilinski to be a part of this story as a resident of Beacon Hills, and I didn't want there to be any noticeable possibility of a connection between he and Stiles. The story took a different turn than I expected so the Sheriff isn't in this fic, but my first reason still applies.


	8. Chapter 8

It was after a nasty fight with a family of wendigos that the pack settled in Beacon Hills, California. They had been in the small town for three days, tracking the group and laying wards to keep other malevolent creatures out, when Stiles and Boyd were ambushed outside of a skating rink, of all places. The fight was brief, but costly: each man managed to kill a wendigo before the third slashed Stiles from sternum to stomach. Stiles's scream had barely died before Lydia's answer cut through the night, but Boyd didn't have time to wait for the others to arrive.

Despite being "immortal", there _were_ ways for the Mikaelsons to die (particularly for the witchy contingent), and evisceration was definitely a contender. Stiles had barely managed to direct Boyd to 'lay me on that big tree stump in the middle of the woods, I'll be fine' before passing out in his arms, and Boyd had taken off for the woods without really knowing where he was going, trusting Stiles's magic and the pack bond to guide him. There were a few tense seconds of running before he started to feel the pull of the nemeton deep within the preserve, and, with a howl, ran unerringly in search of the tree.

Boyd laid Stiles on top of the giant trunk, hoping that Stiles was right and that somehow, this tree would save his friend. He used both his shirt and jacket to try and staunch the flow of blood, but it did little good against such a large wound. Boyd watched as Stiles struggled to breathe, skin growing paler by the second. He was almost translucent, and it took the other boy a minute to realize that his friend was faintly glowing.

He focused on Stiles's slow heartbeat, afraid to look away even for the time it would take to call Lydia. He knelt down next to the tree and took the witch's hand, determined to offer what little support he could. The rest of the pack would find their ways here; he would watch over Stiles.

For a long moment, the faint glow held, then it turned brighter until he was forced to close his eyes to the flare of magic. Boyd heard the gasps and whines of the others as they arrived, but didn't turn away from Stiles to open his eyes, or let go of his hand. He focused on the beating of Stiles's heart, the other boy's fingers in his hands.

Boyd could feel something twine around his wrist where he touched Stiles, but he could still see the brightness behind his eyelids and didn't dare open his eyes. Suddenly, he was pulled forward, and he reached out with his free hand to try and keep himself from falling on top of his friend. His fingers touched the stump and he gasped at the sudden onslaught on pictures in his mind.

Boyd came back to himself with his head in Stiles's lap, fingers running gently over his scalp. He could hear crying in the background, but tuned in out in favor of looking at Stiles.

The witch was still lying over the tree, Boyd draped over him like a blanket. It was surprisingly comfortable, considering the circumstances. Stiles's eyes were glowing.

"We thank you for your service," the voice echoed, out of place in his friend's mouth.

The rest of the pack stood around the tree, various looks on their faces. No one knew how to answer, considering they had no idea who was speaking. Boyd settled for nodding, not wanting to offend whatever entity was controlling his friend.

Jackson was not so careful. "What do you want?"

Rather than get offended, whatever was controlling Stiles smiled at them. It reminded Boyd of the way his mother had smiled at him when she was proud of something that he had done. "Only what you are willing to give," the voice said.

"What if we don't want to give anything?"

"You have already given." The stump was covered in Stiles's blood. "The sacrifice was accepted."

"What about Stiles?" Lydia moved closer to her friend, ready to intervene if the entity tried to leave or do anything else with Stiles's body. Scott mirrored Lydia from behind.

"All children are loved."

Stiles blinked, and the quiet wolf was once again staring into his friend's brown eyes. "Boyd," the boy questioned, falling forward into the wolf's arms.

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Despite being physically healed, getting slashed by the wendigo had taken a lot out of Stiles, and he leaned on Scott the entire way to the hotel. Boyd was also surprisingly exhausted by the evening's events, and it was only after Stiles promised to explain the nemeton (in detail) to Lydia that the two were allowed to pass out, neither boy even bothering to remove their shoes before hitting the bed.

Boyd dreamed of being a wolf, running through the trees and exploring the sights and smells around him. He chased fireflies through the forest while the warm breeze brushed through his fur. The woods were alive, and thriving, protected by the magic flowing through every rock and branch around him. He was content.

He woke up slowly, feeling strangely heavy despite the peaceful dreams. The room was empty, except for Stiles, who was still sleeping in the bed next to him. Someone had taken the time to remove their bloody clothing, and it was surprisingly comfortable for a random motel in a small town. He breathed deeply, taking the time to catalogue what his body was feeling like Stiles had taught him--and he felt heavy, but also sort of energized, and happy, despite the fact that his friend had almost died.

Boyd was still thinking an hour later when he felt Stiles stir. The wolf waited patiently while the other boy took a few minutes to listen to his own body--breathing deeply, eyes closed--before he turned to Boyd with a smile. "So...that feels kind of weird. Tingly, even."

"What is it?"

"Nemeta are essentially sacred spaces for Druids, usually trees. This one acts as a center to the rest of the Preserve, and probably the whole town. There aren't any Druids around here, though, so it was feeling a bit lonely." He paused, chewing his thumbnail thoughtfully. "It probably drew us here."

Being lured to a town by a tree was, by no means, the strangest thing that had happened to Boyd since he had met Stiles and Lydia. So long as it didn't try to kill them, he would roll with it. "What does it want?"

Stiles shrugged. "Don't know yet. I mean, it obviously wants a guardian since it tapped us, but we're not Druids, so this might just be temporary."

"Shouldn't we wait to talk about this when Lydia and the others get back? Hopefully, with food?"

(Lydia did bring them food. However, it was accompanied by head slaps and a ninety-minute interrogation about nemeta in general, the Beacon Hills nemeton in particular, and why it drew them to this place. Stiles didn't have enough answers for anyone's liking.)

Curious as to what a sacred Druidic tree might want with them, the pack decided to stay in Beacon Hills a few more nights to research sacred trees and to take a general break from monster-hunting.

Information about nemeta was difficult to find, most of it coming from Roman conquerors who were definitely not sympathetic towards the Druids. There were lots of bloody stories about ritual murder, but nothing about willing sacrifices or miraculous resurrections.

It might have worried the pack when, one by one, they all began dreaming of the nemeton. However, the dreams were always pleasant, filled with warmth and happiness, and despite the fact that they all knew that their anonymity couldn't last forever, they decided to stay. At least until a real guardian came along.

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A year of relative peace in Beacon Hills called for a vacation, according to Lydia. Somewhere tropical, where shirtless men and fruity drinks were the norm. Stiles had laughed, but agreed. For ten days, the pack got too much sun and sand in strange places. Jackson and Boyd learned to surf, Scott and Stiles mostly splashed around, and Lydia sunbathed. They ate dinner under the stars, slept late into the mornings, and met a thunder kitsune named Kira when she jumped in to help when Jackson was almost drowned by a feral mermaid.

Kira had been avoiding her mother for the last century or so, and had chosen Barbados simply because it was somewhere her mother would never look. The quirky girl was more than happy to come home with them. Lydia now had someone to be a girl with (not that Stiles would ever actually _say_ that to Lydia), Jackson and Boyd found a little sister, Scott and Stiles found someone willing to be a little silly with them, and Kira found the family she'd always wanted.


	9. Chapter 9

Life was going well, which was why Stiles should have known it wouldn’t last. The pack was happy, the town had been mostly monster-free for the last five years, and the nemeton was thriving, which naturally meant that there was nowhere to go but down.

Stiles had kept loose tabs on his siblings over the years, and he knew that once the witchy contingent of Freya, Finn, Kol, and surprisingly, Henrik had managed to catch up with the vampire trio of Elijah, Niklaus, and Rebekah, the witches had anchored the vampires to their humanity.

The witches had dealt poorly with wildly fluctuating power and emotionally-charged magic in the aftermath of the immortality spell. They did not have to struggle with bloodlust as the vampires did, but Freya, Finn, and Kol were forced to relearn everything they had known about magic, much to their frustration. Spells that had previously seemed simple suddenly had disastrous consequences, and the ensuing destruction had alienated more than one magical bloodline for decades to come. With only Ayana's support, Kol became increasingly volatile, and Henrik, who had no magical experience, forced his power inward until he made himself ill. It was only after one of Kol's outbursts led to an accidental death that the siblings pulled themselves together.

The witches were not allowed to see Elijah, Niklaus, or Rebekah, but Ayana told them that their siblings were changed, and were suffering, and would need their support in order to survive. With new purpose, Freya, Finn, and Kol recommitted themselves to learning, and convinced Henrik to begin studying in order to help protect the others.

When they were reunited, the siblings vowed to stay together “always and forever”, and set out to build their supernatural empire while keeping an eye out for enemies; namely, their parents.

They were the Original vampires and one of the first, and most powerful covens in the world, and they were often talked about in hushed, reverent tones that made Stiles break out in hives.

Stiles had also kept track of Ivy's family. He saw Ivy only three more times after the spell was cast, (though he learned to visit her in dreams from time to time): the first, when she was a young lady on the verge of womanhood; the second, after the birth of her first child (she wanted to name him Stiles, but settled for Samuel instead); and the last, on her deathbed, surrounded by her dark-haired, bright-eyed family.

He usually observed her descendants from the shadows, but every so often he would "meet" one of the wolves; totally coincidentally, of course. A brief encounter in line at a coffee shop or bookstore was enough to satisfy him, while keeping him as nondescript as possible.

Most of them fit the dark and solemn mold set by his adoptive sister, but there were occasional rebels in the ranks. Sandy-haired, blue-eyed philosophers, golden-haired angels, or glorious redheads, pack by marriage or birth, he loved them all.

(Though, it must be said, it was often the rebels who were his favorites.)

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The return of the Hales was an important event for the supernatural side of Beacon Hills. The well-respected family had long held the position of the town's primary protection from the supernatural, and their departure over a decade before had created a void that had only been recently (and reluctantly) filled by the Martins.

The pack had heard about the Hales of course, had seen their impressive house on the Preserve, and heard the story of the near-tragedy that had struck the family, forcing them to New York while they regrouped. By all accounts, the family was happy there; it was only the youngest son's desire to raise his children in his childhood home that led the Hales back to Beacon Hills.

The pack was more than a little curious to see how things panned out; even Boyd seemed to be getting a bit anxious as the return date for the other werewolves drew near. Everyone had become surprisingly fond of the town and the nemeton, and they weren't entirely sure what they would do if the Hales wanted them gone.

Stiles and Lydia had no desire to fight for territory, and no wish to risk their friends in such a fight. A witch, a banshee, three wolves, and a kitsune might be a good foundation for a joke, but the Hales could overwhelm them with sheer numbers if it came to a fight. They could mentally outmaneuver the other pack, but that took long-term planning and time that they didn't have.

Elen, one of the skinwalkers that operated the cozy little bakery downtown, told them not to worry. The Hales had the town's respect, she told them, but the Martins had their love.

They worried anyway.

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The Hale pack arrived in Beacon Hills on a Friday, rolling through the center of town like a small parade.

"The least they could have done was thrown out candy," Scott commented idly, watching the rather impressive caravan move toward the Preserve.

Boyd snorted, and rolled his eyes at the kitsune beside him. "We'd better go tell Lydia the Hales are here."

"Won't she see the cars?"

"Depends on how hard she's working," Scott shrugged, throwing his arm across Kira's shoulders. "You've seen how focused they get."

"What about Stiles?"

"I'm sure Stiles already knows."

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Stiles's heart started pounding the minute he felt the Hale pack cross the county line, though not for the reasons most people suspected. Lydia was more concerned about possible conflict with the Hales than he was at the moment, though it didn't hurt to be prepared. Over the last few weeks, Stiles and Lydia had laid so many wards and brewed so many potions that Elen and the others at the bakery had jokingly accused them of preparing for the apocalypse.

(As far as Stiles was concerned, the arrival of any of his siblings could definitely be considered a world-ending event.)

Stiles's worry about the Hales had morphed to near panic when he heard the rumor that Andrew Hale had recently married a lovely woman by the name of Rebekah Mikaelson. Would Rebekah be coming to Beacon Hills? Would the others follow her? Would Stiles be forced to leave if they did?

Fighting a pack of angry werewolves seemed much preferable to seeing his family again.

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The initial meeting between the packs happened both earlier and later than Stiles had anticipated. The Martins had decided to step back and observe the other pack, letting them make the first move. Scott and Jackson were frequently in town, trying to get a feel for the situation, and Boyd and Kira went about their business as if nothing had changed at all.

They had cursory encounters with the other pack--in the cereal aisle, at the movies--but nothing that could give one group substantial understanding of the other.

Unfortunately, while each of the others--including Lydia--made the effort to see and be seen, Stiles, in an effort to avoid his sister, avoided town almost entirely.

What he (and the rest of the pack) didn't expect, was for Elen to take matters into their own hands.

Elen cornered him on his coffee run eleven days after the Hale pack arrived. Lydia had finally threatened to curse him if he didn't leave the house; that, plus the combined sad eyes of Scott and Kira, had pushed him out the door.

His plan for a quick in-and-out was spectacularly derailed by Elen, who burst into the shop with a bang, pulling an ethereal-looking redhead behind her. "Stiles," she cried, smiling in a way that never meant good things for him. He was suddenly getting the distinct feeling that he had been set up, and he didn't like it. "Come sit with us." He was being manhandled into a booth before he had a chance to refuse.

Stiles took some consolation from the fact that the redhead looked as shell-shocked as he felt. Maybe she had been ambushed as well? He cleared his throat uneasily and looked to his friend to get the conversation started. "Stiles, this is my friend Nadia. She's just married to Benjamin Hale." Stiles watched the other girl curiously. "Nadia, this is Stiles. He's the Alpha of the Martin pack."

"He's not a wolf," the girl stated, confused. "And I can't speak for the pack--"

"Neither are you," Elen said sharply, giving the other girl a look. "He and his pack have done a lot for this town, and they're very nice people. Well, except for Jackson, but we forgive him."

"Why am I here?" Stiles interrupted. Did he need to be here for this conversation? Why couldn't he just get everyone's coffee and leave?

"Because," Elen said, "I haven't known Nadia very long, but she's very smart, and she's a long way from her family." Stiles looked it the skinwalker in shock. When did Elen get so perceptive? "I think you two have a lot in common."

Conversation slowly improved after that. Nadia was a nice girl, recently emigrated from a coven in Ukraine, and once she realized that Stiles wasn't interested in talking pack politics, the two of them got along pretty well.

Two hours later, after a rather heated debate about the the validity of using tea leaves for divination, Stiles only felt a little guilty when he forgot to take the others their drinks.

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After Stiles's impromptu meeting with Nadia, he decided to stop hiding; it wouldn't work long-term anyway. On a day when the rest of the pack was busy around town, he and Lydia drove out to the preserve to informally introduce themselves to the Hales. If it was also a good chance to catch them unprepared and size them up, well, that was just a perk of making the first move.

The Hale house was set back from the main road, hugging the western edge of the preserve. It had one of those long, gravel driveways, so that even the humans in the family could hear company coming long before they arrived.

By the time the pair had pulled up to the house, a dozen people were standing on the porch waiting for them. Stiles didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed that Rebekah was not among them. Neither was Nadia.

Despite being a group of strong, attractive people, every last one of them looked surprisingly grouchy.

The duo took their time getting out of the jeep, letting the wolves get used to their presence, making no move to get closer to the house. Alpha Hale's reaction would determine how the rest of the visit would play out. With a nod toward his banshee, they both turned toward the others.

Stiles's eyes widened briefly as he took in the assembled family before him. His breath caught, and he had to cough to cover up the laughter bubbling up within him.

He caught Lydia's eyes, and noticed that she had seen the resemblance as well.

The Alpha, a tall, slender brunette, frowned at them before stepping forward. Unfortunately, the sour look she sent them was all it took to start the laughter.

"So many dark and broody wolves," he gasped, clutching his sides and attempting to breathe. "Oh, Ivy, you outdid yourself with this group."

After a few minutes of Stiles and Lydia laughing and the glares getting increasingly murderous, the Alpha spoke. "My name is Talia Hale. This is my husband Inias," she nodded to the man on her left, "and my brother Peter," the man on her right, "and my eldest children, Andrew, Laura, and Derek." The rest of the wolves remained unnamed, and there were no doubt more inside besides.

"My name is Lydia, and this is Stiles." She gave the group an impressive stare-down that made more that one wolf fidget, and Talia and Peter both raise their eyebrows. "We don't have an Alpha as such, but if we did, it would be Stiles." Gazes shifted to him, and he fought the urge to fidget; Lydia squeezed his hand. He cast his senses out, searching for people: _five more in the house, three in the woods_ , before refocusing on the conversation. "This is not a formal negotiation, of course," Lydia was saying, "considering most of our pack is not present. We simply wanted to introduce ourselves."

"Do you plan to leave the territory?"

"No. We're not interested in fighting, either, so I hope we can reach a mutually beneficial arrangement." They turned to leave, but Peter stopped them.

"We've seen your pack around town," he smirked. "Are you trying to stake a claim?"

"We've lived here for a while now." She narrowed her eyes at him. "We're simply going about our lives."

Peter opened his mouth, no doubt to be even more irritating, but shut it when his sister elbowed him in the ribs.

"We'll be going now," Stiles spoke into the silence. He took Lydia's hand and pulled her towards the car. "Have a nice evening."

"WAIT!"

Stiles had barely heard the front door slam open before a body crashed into his, nearly sending him sprawling on the ground. He could see wolves out of the corners of his eyes, obviously prepared to attack if necessary, before focusing on the vampire before him.

Despite his resolve to avoid her, it was impossible not to enjoy having his sister in his arms. Even though he had half-expected to see her today, the shock of holding Rebekah again brought back memories of the last time he had seen her, unconscious and injured.

"I was going to let you leave but I--" she whispered into his shoulder. "I've missed you."

"I missed you too, but Nik made it painfully clear what would happen the next time he saw me." He squeezed his sister a bit tighter. "You guys have a bit of a reputation, you know. Excuse me if I don't want to test his resolve."

"Nik's an idiot."

Stiles huffed a laugh. "Our brother is many things, but stupid is not one of them."

He reluctantly pulled away from his sister and climbed into the jeep where Lydia was waiting, a small but sympathetic smile on her face. He kissed her cheek and put the car into drive.

No one tried to stop them from leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: the next three chapters, and possibly a little something else.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

Rebekah met with Talia almost immediately after Lydia and Stiles had left, and told the alpha what she could about her little brother, but childhood memories and hearsay weren't very reliable, at least from the pack's point of view. Not to mention that the vampire was hesitant to say anything that could put her newly-found brother in danger. The fact that he was still avoiding her in no way lessened her desire to protect him.

Instead, knowledge of Stiles and his pack came from a surprising source: Benjamin's wife Nadia. After their first meeting in the coffee shop, the emissary had thrown herself into learning about Stiles and his pack, and was more than willing to share her information.

At first, she had found annoyingly little. Few people knew that Stiles Mikaelson existed, and fewer still knew him by that name. Finding out about Stiles by any name was practically impossible, outside of a few obscure references in magical texts. Searching for information about Lydia proved equally as futile.

It was only when Nadia asked about the Martin pack that people started talking to her, albeit reluctantly. She learned that the Martins were a knowledgeable and powerful pack, well-known for defending the weak and helping those in need. Those who were willing to speak to her told the story of a very private alpha who worked in shadows while his beautifully cunning wife charmed the public. They had saved the pacifistic Ruiz pack from hunters, rumors said, and averted a war between the Court of Glittering Leaves and the Navajo with a well-timed joke.

The wolves in the pack, the stories claimed, were ridiculously loyal to the witches who had saved their lives. Everyone who spoke to her said that they would consider it an honor to ally themselves with the Martins.

Rebekah had insisted on being present when Nadia finally shared her findings. It was a surprisingly large group, since every member of the pack over the age of eighteen had been asked to attend. Rebekah sat next to her husband and anxiously awaited her sister-in-law's report.

Talia, as alpha, addressed the pack first. "As you know, a rather unique pack moved into Beacon Hills while we were away. The Martins are, according to everyone in town, kind and fair people who have taken up the burden of defending this territory." Seeing no objections, she continued, "Nadia has taken it upon herself to research their pack. Her findings may help us better peacefully interact with them." She glared pointedly at Peter, who simply ignored her.

Nadia stood, giving Rebekah an encouraging smile. "It was amazing, actually, how little I could find out about such a well-loved group of people. But everything I found suggests that they are impressively powerful and secretive for such a small pack."

"They've been in town for five years," Peter interjected. "We have seen hunters that have lived in communities for decades before showing their true colors." Multiple heads nodded; the Hales knew all too well the dangers of relying on first impressions.

"You don't understand." Nadia shook her head, but didn't disagree with Peter. "I had to beg people to talk to me. I literally had a shaman hang up on me because he said he wouldn't endanger the Martins to satisfy my curiosity. I had a bridge troll threaten to eat me if I harmed her precious Scott. Evidently east coast vampires adore Boyd, and even though everyone universally agrees that Jackson has the temperament of an injured porcupine, I had people threatening me on his behalf as well."

Nadia turned to Rebekah, eyes softening. "By all accounts, Stiles is brilliant and funny and selfless, and no matter how hard he and his pack try to stay completely under the radar it doesn't work because they keep helping people, and that kind of reputation gets around. People may not know that he's a Mikaelson, but they _know him_."

She shifted back to Talia and Inias. "They might not be physically strong enough to push us out, but it would be a close thing. Not to mention, I'm certain that for each person that did speak with me, there were four more like the shaman."

"In other words," Nadia finished bluntly, "if we try to kick them out, we'll regret it."

The invitation for negotiations was in the mail just days later; Rebekah couldn't help but be pleased.

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Ten days later, the Martins received a formal invitation--complete with fancy embossing and gold lettering--to begin official negotiations with the Hales for the following weekend.

The significance of holding negotiations on the full moon was not lost on the Martins; the pack was torn between being amused and insulted that the Hales planned to use the power boost of the full moon to make their family stronger during that time. Scott and Jackson were insulted on Stiles's behalf, Lydia was seething under what she saw as a slight against the entire pack, and Boyd was walking around with a small smirk that usually meant he found something hilarious; not that he would tell anyone why he was laughing. Kira suggested visiting the nemeton.

Everyone in the pack had conflicting feelings about the nemeton. There was no doubt that it had saved Stiles's life, but the spirits inhabiting it acted suspiciously like teenagers about seventy percent of the time, meaning that the pack couldn't always find the nemeton if they looked for it, but more than once a member of the pack had woken up in the middle of the night in front of the tree. It didn't matter how nice the dreams were at the time; sleeping on a giant tree stump was not comfortable.

Thankfully, the nemeton wasn't in a playful mood this time, and the pack found it without any trouble. There were multiple spells meant to help channel its magic, but, in this case, they were going to use the fastest and most direct method: blood offering.

Everyone touched their bloody palms to the stump at once, giving the spirits equal chance to choose their vessel; this time, it was Kira. She turned glowing eyes to Stiles.

"Welcome, my child." The spirit in Kira's body reached out to stroke Stiles's hair. "Why so worried?"

"The Hale wolves have returned," Lydia said. "We ask for your blessing."

"Of course." She turned to Jackson and kissed his brow. "You are strong, and deep like the ocean." She kissed Scott, and said, "You are true, and constant like the North Star. Boyd was next, with "You are watchful, and steady like the mountain." Lydia, curious, leaned into her kiss. The spirit smiled. "You are wise, and mysterious like the moon." She turned to Stiles. "You are bright, and reaching like the sun."

"Go in peace."

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Negotiations turned out to be laughably simple, even though they lasted most of the day. Peter Hale tried adding ridiculous stipulations at every turn, with Lydia or Jackson calmly rejecting each new request. Stiles left most of the negotiations to the two of them, and spent the day watching the wolves through the parlor windows. They seemed fascinated and terrified of him by turns, with the children pressing their hands or noses to the glass and the adults refusing to make eye contact. Stiles suspected that Rebekah had something to do with that. She stayed out of sight during the talks, but Stiles could sense her moving restlessly through the woods--probably to avoid barging in the room and making a nuisance of herself.

(Rebekah always had loved being in the middle of things when they were growing up.)

Stiles trusted Kira, Boyd, and Scott to keep an eye on things while the rest of them met with Talia, Inias, and Peter. He caught glimpses of them throughout the day, their cautious happiness steady in the back of his mind.

By dinner time, the yard had been set up to accommodate a veritable feast. Scott, Kira, and surprisingly Jackson were "persuaded" to join the kids table, while Boyd worked his way towards Stiles and Lydia. Conversation smoothly turned from politics to small talk, and Nadia smirked at him from directly across the table. "I hear very interesting things about you, now that I know how to listen."

Stiles shrugged. "I don't know what you mean."

"Are you still a Prince of the Fairies?" she asked curiously.

Stiles barked out a laugh. "First of all, I was never married to Melisandre. It was never a valid ceremony. It was like the Vegas equivalent of a Fae wedding."

"Do you often treat with fairies?"

"Since you know about Melisandre, I'll assume you did your research," he said, narrowing his eyes. "I haven't been to Hungary in many years, as you well know."

"If you say so," Nadia said, smiling. Her husband, who had been listening to the conversation, kissed her cheek indulgently before striking up a conversation with his sister Cora. Nadia was pulled into a different conversation, and Stiles took the opportunity to survey the table.

Lydia's lips brushed his cheek, and Stiles raised his eyebrows at her. "For the next round of the inquisition," she explained, nodding at Nadia, who was watching him again.

"I was wondering why the nemeton did not call to me," she said slowly, but loudly enough for everyone to hear. Conversation fell silent around the table. "I thought that it must be starving, with the family so far away."

All eyes were on the two of them, and he wondered briefly if this conversation had been planned, but didn't shift his gaze from the baby emissary. "Most people," she continued, "think that nemata need large packs to protect them. But really, it's a question of food. The larger the pack, the more power it feeds its nemeton." She looked expectantly at Stiles. "Our nemeton is very well-fed."

Another voice piped up. "I'm more curious to find out why Rebekah called you her brother." Laura Hale was looking past him, no doubt to where his sister had emerged from the tree line. Unsure of how much Rebekah had told the Hales, he waited until she was seated before smiling ruefully at Laura. This might be the last chance he had to be close to his sister.

"I was the youngest of my family," he began. "We were happy. When I was ten, my brother Henrik was attacked by a rogue wolf, and I saved him." He stared at his hands, lost in memories, until Bekah nudged his shoulder; he shot her a grateful smile. "Father hated me after that. When I was sixteen, I left."

"Where did you go?"

"Ansel was an alpha that lived nearby. He and his daughter looked after me for a little while." Talia's eyes widened in surprise, her hand moving unconsciously to the pendant around her neck, and Peter's eyes narrowed consideringly. "Ivy was like a sister to me after I lost my family," he continued, ignoring Rebekah's sudden cry next to him. "She and Ansel took me in and taught me to survive. Your symbol, the one on your pendant? I carved it into the charm I gave Ivy the night before her wedding."

"You're the bruja."

"Mom?" The alpha turned to an older woman standing serenely under the big oak tree at the edge of the yard. She had been pushing what seemed like a never-ending line of children on the tire swing since dinner had ended; she didn't bother stopping now, barely turning to acknowledge the other adults.

"Great Aunt Thea used to tell the story of the bruja who came when Ivy was dying. How he made her laugh, and held her hand, and how she called him brother. How she held on until he came to kiss her goodbye. And how it rained for days after she died, even though there were no clouds in the sky."

The older woman paused suddenly, a thoughtful look on her face. "You took me for ice cream once, when I was a little girl."

"You looked so adorable in your dress, but you hated it," he said, smiling fondly at the memory. "It was the least I could do."

"You've been watching all these years, haven't you? Why haven't we seen you?"

"You have your own lives, and I have mine." He shrugged. "I simply take a peek every once in awhile."


	11. Chapter 11

The night ended rather abruptly after the revelation about Stiles and Ivy. Rebekah was by turns relieved that Lydia had been the only one who had known about Stiles's relationship with Niklaus's half-sister, and frustrated that there had been a way to locate Stiles centuries ago. She could only imagine how Nik would respond to the knowledge.

Over the next few weeks, relations between the two packs solidified until it was entirely normal to see Derek and Boyd together in Elen's shop, having entire conversations using nothing but their eyebrows; or Cora and Kira, who had bonded over martial arts and a love of fantasy novels, practicing kata in the woods. Scott hardly went anywhere without a trail of Hale children behind him, and Peter and Jackson had somehow bonded over their complete disregard for anyone not in their immediate families.

Rebekah had to say that she was thrilled with the progress. Stiles was only half-heartedly avoiding her at this point, mostly with Lydia's interference, though the rest of his packmates still regarded her with lingering suspicion. She'd have to find out exactly what Stiles had told them about their family if she wanted to convince them to accept her.

Though Stiles conferred with Talia or Inias every few days, he left most official business in Lydia's hands. Instead, he forged a rather perplexing friendship with Laura, the second eldest Hale child, and by far the most outgoing of the Hale siblings. Laura was a bizarre mix of compassion and irreverence, and she spent much of her free time at the Martin house, watching bad movies with Stiles and Scott.

The only reason Rebekah knew about the movie nights was because her husband Drew kept pumping Laura for information about Stiles. Laura had to know what her brother was doing, but Rebekah appreciated the silent support she felt every time Laura passed on a new bit of knowledge. In fact, that sibling exchange was what had led Rebekah to her brother's home.

According to Laura, the Martins were going out of town for a week to attend a wedding. Kira, who didn't know the couple, would be stopping in Seattle to visit her grandparents. Unlike the rest of the pack, who were driving to Boston, Stiles was flying out a couple of days after the others. Laura had not-so-subtly suggested to Rebekah that she visit Stiles in the interim, going so far as to threaten the entire Hale household against distracting either of the Mikaelson siblings for the next two days.

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The Hales all but pushed Rebekah out the door after breakfast the next morning, even going so far as to lock all of the doors and windows in an attempt to force her to visit her brother.

The truth was, she wanted to visit Stiles, so badly. She had felt guilty for years after the ghoul incident that she hadn't been stronger, hadn't woken him up in time to convince him to stay. When he and Lydia had first visited the Hale house, she had been shocked to hear his voice, somewhat deeper, but still undeniably her littlest brother. She wasn't a witch like Freya or Kol, she couldn't feel the connections between living things like them, but she knew with absolute certainty that she had to see him. Despite whatever wolf protocols she might have broken, she couldn't pass up the chance to touch him one more time.

She hadn't cared that she clutched at him as if she would never see him again, or that Drew and his family had no idea what was happening. She hadn't even cared about outing him as a Mikaelson; it was long past time for him to let someone else be the protector in their family.

She just had to get him to let them in.

Stiles let her in the house, anyway. Things had gone downhill from there. She should have expected it, really; Stiles was a Mikaelson after all. "Bekah--"

"Aunt Dahlia told us that you left to protect us, but you don't have to do that anymore," she huffed at him. "Why are you being so stubborn?"

(It was ironic, really. They had started the night at opposite ends of the living room, slowly gravitating closer to one another until they were on opposite ends of the couch, Bekah's feet in Stiles's lap; it hadn't stopped them from arguing.)

"Lydia and I traveled a lot before we met the others; we had quite a few close calls with you guys over the years." He laughed bitterly. "I literally collided with Kol once. Lydia and I were in Venice for Carnevale. I knew it was him, even with the mask. Two days later, there was a rash of vampire attacks."

"Kol didn't--"

The youngest Mikaelson barely held back his sigh. _What would it take for her to understand that it was dangerous to be_ _around him_?

"I _know_ that Kol didn't have anything to do with it. But almost every time I see one of you, no matter how briefly, there's an attack afterwards. It can't be coincidence. They were following me."

Instead of looking understanding, though, she glared at him. Definitely his sister, then. "Have you considered that our parents were following us, and not you?” she asked. "There were a few decades where our parents followed us everywhere. They left quite a trail of bodies in their wake."

Seeing Stiles waver, she pressed, "Who knows what would have happened to me in that alley if you hadn't saved me?"

She wisely decided not to mention that the two of them had been living in the same town for months now without incident.

He still didn't believe her, though, she could tell. He and Niklaus were both stubborn like that, in that it was almost impossible to change their minds once the got an idea into their heads. Rather than fight him, she tugged the witch to her side of the couch, putting an arm around him and placing her head on his shoulder.

She'd prove it to him eventually. For now, though, she would settle for movies and casual conversation.

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It came as a surprise to the Hale pack that the Martins didn't rely on consulting to make their living. Indigo Apothecary was the pack's business, and all of them took great pride in the small establishment, nestled auspiciously between a used bookstore and a sandwich shop in downtown Beacon Hills.

On the surface, the apothecary looked like any other small, artisan shop, filled with handmade soaps and salves and tinctures. Anyone of supernatural persuasion, however, could smell wolfsbane, belladonna, and any other number of magical herbs kept out of the public eye, and even some of the humans could feel the thrum of the wards.

The Martins' potions were so popular, in fact, that once Peter realized that the majority of visitors to the territory were there specifically to shop, he doubled its patrol rotation. Lydia huffed at him, but for once let the matter drop.

Stiles and Lydia made most of the products sold in the shop, with Kira or other members of the community occasionally offering wares as well. The shop was almost always busy, and Rebekah noticed that many of the town's young women were frequent visitors, ostensibly to gawk at whichever pack member might be working, but they also tended to buy at least a little something with every visit.

Perhaps Stiles had woven some sort of enchantment to persuade people to shop? It didn't seem like something Stiles or Lydia would do (though she couldn't say the same for her other brothers); maybe the lure was unintentional?

When she asked Stiles about it, he laughed and said that the wolves were the enchanters in question, and that no additional charms were necessary.

(She understood what he meant a few days later when Boyd and Jackson took their shirts off as they helped unload supplies. Personally, Rebekah thought that it was amazing that they didn't have to mop more often.)


	12. Chapter 12

It had been pure luck that Rebekah had been driving by the shop. Laura had forgotten the snacks for movie night, and, rather than face the pathetic looks of Scott and Stiles, had begged Rebekah to find snacks "appropriate for a kickass night of action movies". What those snacks might be, Rebekah had no idea, but given the opportunity to spend more time with Stiles and his pack, she would make the effort. After wandering the grocery store for what felt like ages, internally panicking over her options, a store employee had finally taken pity on her and chosen a variety of chips and candy on her behalf. It actually made the vampire feel better--if the others didn't like the choices, it wasn't going to be Rebekah's fault.

Impulsively deciding to offer her brother a ride home, Rebekah pulled up to the shop--only to stop short at the sight of Scott carrying her brother, both boys covered in blood. Jackson followed a step behind, moving quickly, face set into a blank mask. Jackson wordlessly grabbed her keys and pushed her toward the backseat, cramming the keys back into the ignition and flooring the gas as soon as everyone was in the car.

Scott maneuvered Stiles so that he was lying mostly flat across the backseat, his head butting up against her thigh, his blood soaking into her jeans. Her brother's neck and shoulder were covered in blood, and it looked like someone had tried to rip her brother's throat out. His eyes were closed, face ashen, his breath coming in tiny pants.

“Is he going to be okay?” Rebekah demanded, glaring at the boy in the seat next to her. Her brother's blood was still soaking into her jeans, making them sticky, and she couldn't do anything to stop it. Trying to feed him blood right now would be a waste, no matter how much she wanted to try it. She couldn't lose him now. Couldn't they go any faster? "How could you let this happen?"

"Does this look like a wolf attack to you?" Jackson snarled. "This was one of your vampire friends!"

"This witch came into the shop today. Rose, I think her name was. Anyway, she had been in a few times before." Scott glanced down at his friend. "I guess she had been hired to do a spell to find your family. She didn't know about Stiles, so she thought it had failed, and then..."

"The vampire showed up to clean up his mess," Rebekah finished. And the vampire, the suicidal moron that he was, had attacked in a room full of werewolves. "How did Stiles get hurt?"

"He jumped in front of her when the vampire attacked."

Of course he did. Trust Stiles to get hurt protecting someone who had been trying to hurt him.

The car suddenly lurched as it left the road, and moved toward the Preserve. If they were trying to get to the Hale house, they were going in the wrong direction. "Where are we taking him?"

Stiles moaned. “Stiles! Stay with me, you’re going to be all right. Stiles, look at me." Miraculously, his eyes fluttered open, but they remained hazy and unfocused.

"Stiles,” Rebekah pleaded, pressing a hand to his face. “You can’t sleep, okay? Nik will kill me if you die." With a jolt of panic, she realized that if he had been anyone other than a Mikaelson, Stiles might already be dead. He might still die.

Suddenly, the car stopped, and Jackson was sprinting further into the woods, Stiles in his arms. Neither he nor Scott spared her a second glance as they took off, but thankfully, she thought, she could use her speed to catch up.

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The nemeton was already glowing by the time Jackson entered the clearing. He supposed there was some sort of ritual or something to ask for help, but he wasn't going to stand on ceremony when his friend's life was at stake. Frankly, he thought the tree owed them for keeping it alive.

He placed Stiles gently on the tree, despite the seriousness of the situation, and took a step backwards. Stiles's sister hadn't been that far behind them, but she wasn't here, and he couldn't hear her through the trees. He wondered briefly if the nemeton was keeping her away, a dead thing separate from the living, but decided he didn't care. He shivered, and Scott rested his hand on the other wolf’s shoulder.

Both boys jumped when Stiles jackknifed, mouth opened in a silent scream, and instinctively rushed forward to take his hands. The glow, while not as bright as before, was fire hot, and Scott and Jackson both screamed in pain as their hands burned.

The burning stopped suddenly, leaving both boys shaky and confused. They waited silently for the glow to fade before letting go of Stiles, who lay unconscious but whole before them.

"Stiles would want us to find Rebekah before we leave," Scott said lowly, pulling the other boy into his arms.

Jackson grudgingly agreed.

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It had been less than three hours since Rebekah had found her brother bleeding, but it felt like it had been days. She was exhausted, bloody, and angry.

She had watched as her brother struggled to survive, only to wander the woods while the nemeton saved him, and now, the Martins had locked everyone out of their home. Rebekah was forced to wait outside, begging for entrance. The other Hales--even Talia--had been turned away as well. The only thing that kept her calm was Drew's hand on her shoulder.

"They're protecting their alpha," he explained gently. "It's not personal."

Suddenly, Rebekah desperately wanted to speak to her sister. Freya would be able to give her advice, or Elijah. She was dialing before she thought better of it.

"Rebekah," Nik's voice came over the line, "how lovely to hear from you. Don't tell us that you're tired of California already."

 _Deep breaths, Bekah. Keep it simple. "_ California is fine _."_

"Is everything alright?" her brother asked.

She waited a beat too long to answer, and Rebekah heard shuffling on the other end of the line, probably one of the others wrestling for the phone. She heard Freya next, sounding concerned. "Bekah, you have to tell us what's wrong."

The vampire opened her mouth to tell her sister about Stiles, but she couldn't say the words. Stiles was still convinced that Nik hated him, and the rest of his friends were very protective of the youngest Mikaelson. Rebekah wanted them all to be together again, of course, but she didn't want the rest of her siblings coming to Beacon Hills and starting trouble. Stiles needed rest, not stress. And if all of the Mikaelsons were in a small town like Beacon Hills, people would notice and start asking questions.

"Bekah! If you don't answer me right now, we'll be on the next flight to California."

Freya’s words filtered through her thoughts, and the vampire cringed."NO! I don't--"

"Is the pack in danger?” Finn inquired, coming on the line.

"Which one?" she blurted, before cursing inwardly. _She mustn't do anything to pique their interest_.

"There is more than one pack?" There was more scrambling as the others fought to speak over one another. Hopefully, they would forget her comment about a second pack in the scramble.

"We're going to come visit you; expect us two days," Nik said imperiously, regaining control of the phone.

"No, Nik. Drew and I have not been married long enough for you to come and start poking around in my relationship," she added.

"You're living in a house with dozens of werewolves, surely you're not suggesting we would be the ones to invade your privacy?”

"You know that our family is far more intrusive than any pack."

"Be that as it may--"

She was saved from having to answer by Kira poking her head out the door. "Lydia sent me to get you," she said simply. "You should come."

"Nik, I have to go." She hung up without waiting for a reply. Drew gave her an encouraging smile. "Take your time,” he told her. “Come home when you're ready."

Kira gave her a small smile and beckoned her inside. Rebekah could do nothing but follow.

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Rebekah's breath caught as she entered her brother's room. A quick glance showed that her brother was clean, but far too still and pale for her liking. She remembered with a flash of guilt how drawn and worn he had looked right before he had run away, and she shivered.

Even though Stiles was an adult many times over by now, all Rebekah could see at the moment was her sixteen-year old brother lying in the bed. Lydia was holding one hand, and Scott the other, the rest of the pack spread around the room. Each watched her warily as she entered, and they moved almost as one to uneasily stand at her brother's side.

Rebekah wanted to scream. Things had been getting better! Now, they were back to looking at her like the enemy. Anger flashed through her. "I won't hurt him,” she growled.

"We know you wouldn't," Lydia said. "Not on purpose."

"Our instincts are telling us right now that you're the enemy," Scott interjected. "We know that you're not the vampire that attacked him, but..."

"But you did call your siblings," Jackson added, a bit meanly. "Will they be showing up soon?"

"We love our brother! He's the one that avoided us for 800 years!" She stepped toward Stiles, only to find Boyd standing calmly in her path, a steady hand on her shoulder.

"Getting upset isn't going to help your brother," he said quietly. "You and I both know he wouldn't want us to be angry with each other."

He was right, she knew, but it didn't make her feel any better. They stood there, breathing in each other's spaces, until Rebekah shifted just enough to look beyond the bigger boy's shoulder at Scott, who was watching her with strangely serious eyes. "I swear to you that I would protect Stiles with my life, even from Nik."

The silence was one of the heaviest Rebekah had ever endured. If they turned her away now, she doubted she'd ever get the chance to fix things. "I believe you," he said, moving to give Rebekah room next to the bed.

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Stiles opened his eyes and groaned, slamming them shut against the light piercing his eyelids.

"If you go back to sleep I'm going to punch you!" Rebekah stared down at him, murder in her eyes, his hand clasped tightly in hers. Her fingers brushed gently through his hair.

The yelling was unfair, really; it wasn't like she had almost been killed. He should be allowed to sleep as much as he wanted. He let his eyes drift shut once again. "Threatening violence isn't much of an incentive for me to wake up," he pointed out.

His sister's breath hitched, like she was holding back a sob, and Stiles forced his eyes back open. She tried to angle her face away from his, but Stiles could tell that Rebekah's eyes were suspiciously red. He knew her well enough to pretend not to notice.

"I'm okay, Bekah. Really,” he consoled her.

"Well, I'm not," she said. "I don't want you to be hurt. So stop it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: the final three chapters. I promise there will be closure, and a happy ending!
> 
> I'm posting this a bit earlier than usual because it's going to be a busy day, and I'm not sure I'll have the chance to do it later. Also, I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to respond to last week's comments and questions yet, but I'll get to them in the next 24 hours. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

Stiles was completely healed, thanks to the nemeton, but Lydia still refused to let him out of bed for three days, saying that he needed the rest and glaring at him when he put so much as a foot on the floor. His sister visited every day, and was the only thing that kept him sane while he was "recuperating".

Laura was allowed to visit after the second day, and she and Cora managed to come prepared to make up for the missed movie night. Unfortunately, the witch also had to sit through a lengthy and unnecessary apology from Laura that made Stiles consider fleeing the room and risking Lydia's wrath. Still, Stiles accepted Laura's clinging with good grace, and Cora broke the tension with scathing commentary about how jealous the Hales were of the Martins' relationship with the nemeton. When Stiles politely offered to give the tree back to them, Cora smacked him upside the head.

Rebekah arrived almost as soon as the wolves had left. Stiles would have been suspicious, but his sister liked to wait until Stiles was alone to visit, and to be honest Stiles liked it better that way as well. Besides, he could tell that there was something on his sister's mind, and he wouldn't be able to find out what it was with either of the packs sniffing around.

He waited patiently as she flitted around, before eventually deciding to put them both out of their misery. "Bekah, just say it."

She sighed. "The day you got hurt, I called home. I didn't tell them anything, but you know how Nik is when he thinks someone is hiding something."

"You think they're going to come here," Stiles said. It wasn't a question.

"I'm sorry." Rebekah looked at him with pleading eyes, "But it won't be as bad as you think."

"So Nik won't be furious and try to attack me?"

There was a pause while both of them considered it. "Elijah will stop him,” his sister offered.

Stiles snorted. "Well, that makes me feel so much better."

"Look, Stiles," she said, taking her brother's hand. "We've all missed you terribly. We can protect you from our parents."

"You forget that I've paid attention over the years," he countered pointedly. He didn't want to hurt her feelings, but they needed to be honest with each other. "You can't even protect yourselves."

"It will be fine, brother. You'll see."

Stiles kept quiet and told himself he believed her.

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Both Stiles and Rebekah were distracted and restless while waiting for the rest of their family to arrive, and after Lydia had released Stiles from house arrest, the siblings found themselves bouncing back and forth between the Hale and Martin households. The Hales, for their part, became very clingy, and took to blatantly scenting any of the Martins that came within reach.

In an effort to help, Talia and her husband assigned every member of the Martin pack a shadow, much to the other pack's frustration. For a pack that was used to being fiercely independent, the assistance was both touching and extremely irritating. Boyd and Derek were fine, as were Kira and Cora, but Jackson had growled at Benjamin after the younger wolf had mistakenly eaten all of the leftover Chinese food, and Scott was avoiding Laura after an embarrassing incident that both parties refused to talk about.

In the meantime, Lydia and Stiles were spending a lot of time with Rebekah and Andrew, with a side order of Peter skulking in the shadows. Not counting Peter, their times together were strangely domestic, and Stiles wasn't sure if he should be relieved or horrified. It was so outside the norm for everyone in the quartet except Drew that the others were almost pleased when the rest of the Original family arrived a week later.

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Elin texted Stiles the moment the Mikaelsons entered the diner, looking surprisingly out of place despite their status as the preeminent supernatural family. For a moment, everyone in the diner froze--some in awe, some in fear--while the rest silently took the family's mettle.

Very few references existed to the youngest, lost Mikaelson witch; vague enough that most people claimed that the last "unnamed" child was a myth. The fact that none of the siblings ever commented on the rumors eventually led to only the most radical supernaturals believing the story.

A pair of insightful scholars living in Beacon Hills had noticed how Stiles and Rebekah interacted, though, and had jumped to the right conclusion; when confronted, the two had eventually confirmed the relation. The news had spread through the town like wildfire, but not beyond it out of respect for Stiles and his pack.

Now, the people in the diner wondered what sort of trouble the Mikaelsons might bring to the town or to the Martins, and what they might need to do to protect their protectors.

"Hello," the eldest brother said pleasantly, addressing everyone in the diner. "Can someone please tell us how to get to the Hale house?"

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It was fortunate, Peter thought, that he and another Hale beta had been at the diner when the Original family had arrived. Freya and Henrik had both looked ready to settle in and stay for a while, and there was no doubt that the vampires, at least, would have been able to sense the unease in the room had they stayed for much longer. Better to get them to the house as quickly as possible and let Talia deal with the problem.

Talia and Inias were waiting on the porch when their guests arrived, but Peter caught more than one curious pair of eyes peeking from the woods behind the house as he ushered everyone inside. Once everyone was situated in the parlor, the man settled into the corner and waited for storytime to start. Rebekah wasn't in the room, but Peter had no doubt she'd make her dramatic entrance in time.

All parties had agreed that Stiles would not be present for this meeting; after all, a man doesn't avoid his family for nearly a thousand years without reason. Rebekah seemed to think things would go well, but it was common knowledge that Niklaus Mikaelson was hot-tempered, and only so constrained by his siblings. The fact that the hybrid had also threatened Stiles (albeit eight hundred years ago) only solidified the decision for Talia alone to meet with the family.

After basic refreshments and small talk, Talia turned to the situation at hand. "We're all very happy here, your sister included. I would appreciate it," she said, "if you would refrain from troublemaking while you are here."

"Is anything the matter?" Finn asked. "Rebekah mentioned another pack when we last spoke."

"The Martins live on the other side of the forest. They are very kind people, well-loved by the town. They are allies." The alpha moved to refill the tea while her husband continued, "We're lucky to know them."

"What does Rebekah think?"

Talia shared a small smile with her husband and brother. "You can ask her yourself," she nodded toward the vampire standing in the doorway. "But I think it's safe to say that your sister is very fond of the Martin alphas."

Rebekah breezed into the room, though it was obvious that her smile was forced. The Hales all watched her with concern as she greeted each of her siblings before sitting next to Elijah on the sofa.

"Drew and Derek are going to pick up dinner for everyone tonight, if you're staying?"

"Of course." Elijah watched his sister carefully. "We were worried you were in danger. I apologize if we were rash in coming here."

Rebekah sighed, knowing that Elijah was possibly the only apologetic one. "The only potential danger is our parents discovering that we're all in one place,” she countered.

"We're in no more danger here than we would be in New Orleans," Niklaus argued. "Here, we have the support of the venerable Hale pack."

"Indeed," Talia said, though she nodded at Rebekah. Inias and Peter followed her lead and stood as well. "We'll leave you to catch up."

Unfortunately, the tension only grew following the wolves' exit.

Rebekah fidgeted uneasily until Freya moved to take her hand. "I know that the Alpha said that things were going well for you, but is everything okay? Are you unhappy with your husband or his family?"

"No! I'm very happy here. It was a little odd living with the pack, at first, but everyone has been so accepting." She gave another smile, genuine this time. "It's everything I've hoped for."

Her siblings kept watching her with dubious looks on their faces until Rebekah had to break the silence.

"What do you know about the Martin pack?" Rebekah asked suddenly.

"From everything I've heard, they mostly keep to themselves," Elijah answered slowly. "They're not trying to push the Hales out, are they?"

Rebekah shook her head. "Nothing like that,” she assured them. Then, she hesitated.

"What's wrong?"

She could do this. Stiles had given her permission to tell, mostly because they couldn't have hidden it anyway, and she _would_ tell. She and Stiles were friends again, and she wasn't going to let Niklaus ruin their newfound relationship.

"You know that the alphas of the Martin pack are witches." They were powerful enough, in fact, that both Elijah and Nik had kept an eye on them over the years. The witches traded looks. They had felt a swell of power when they crossed the border.

"Spit it out, Bekah," Henrik pushed. It reminded her so much of Stiles that she just blurted it out.

"Stiles lives in Beacon Hills."

Dead silence followed that statement, and Rebekah rushed to fill it before Nik could take over. "He's the alpha of the Martin pack." She stared at Niklaus. "He's only been speaking to me for a few weeks, and I refuse to let you undo the progress I’ve made. You will not bother him. If I find you've so much as frowned in his direction, I'll wrap you in chains and toss you in the river."

She turned to the rest of them. "I'm glad you're here, and I'll see you at dinner."

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Just because Niklaus was the only one warned off by Rebekah didn't mean that it was any easier for any of the other siblings to find Stiles.

That night at dinner, the Mikaelsons were lectured by three members of the Hale pack, and given threatening looks by a half-dozen others. Suddenly, all of those appraising glances in the diner made sense.

Getting answers out of the townspeople wasn't any easier. No one was rude, but the moment any of the siblings mentioned the Martin pack or Stiles, most people blatantly changed the subject, and one tiny elderly lady even went so far as to whack Niklaus with her purse when he pressed the issue.

Soon enough, a member of the Martin pack seemed to be wherever there was a Mikaelson. First, Finn's quiet breakfast was interrupted by a kind-looking wolf named Scott, who watched him with earnest eyes, welcomed him to the neighborhood, and stole all of his bacon.

Freya and Elijah's encounter with the fox was also pleasant. Kira merely walked up to them as they chatted in the coffee house and, with a sweet smile, remarked that, "Stiles deserves to be surrounded by people who love him." And then she walked away.

Unfortunately for the Original family, Jackson was far less understanding.

The blonde was working behind the counter at the shop the day the Mikaelsons discovered it; he raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Kol's inability to pass the threshold, and laughed outright when Niklaus was forcibly repelled. He barely looked up from his reading, except to tell them to go away.

Two weeks in town, and everyone had met a member of the Martin pack except for Henrik. Two of them were still unaccounted for, and though the witch had heard them spoken of, Lydia and Boyd must have been keeping Stiles company, wherever he was hiding.

Henrik hoped that the pattern held true, and that he too met one of the Martins soon. It fascinated him that such a formidable pack had, for all intents and purposes, given their family nothing but slaps on the wrists for all of their meddling. Even Nik, who had nearly broken his collarbone at the shop, had gotten off lightly. Who knew what would happen with the last two people?

Henrik was at the library for quite a while before he noticed the last two members of the Martin pack watching him from across the room. The boy said nothing, merely arched his eyebrow at Henrik in that judgemental way that came so easily to Elijah. The girl, however, strode over to his table.

"You might be blood," she hissed, "but we're his family, and we'll fight for him. Can you say the same?"

He didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Good."


	14. Chapter 14

Stiles felt it like a punch to the gut the moment his siblings crossed the city line. Panic sliced through him, quick and heady, and he stared at Lydia with wide eyes. He barely felt the hands on his shoulders, and then arms were wrapped around him, his head pressed to his sister's shoulder.

"I don't think I can see them yet," he said, sandwiched between the two women.

"You're not going to hide again, are you?"

"I was thinking about it," he grumbled, though he made no move to pull away.

"You don't have anything to apologize for, just remember that," Lydia said, kissing his cheek.

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Rebekah probably should have felt bad about leaving the Hales with her family, but she didn't. She far preferred the Martins' cheeky banter to Nik's scowling. If she managed to put off the inquisition a little bit longer, who could blame her?

Still, she couldn't help but feel a bit nervous as she pulled up to the house. She truly did believe that Stiles and Niklaus would reconcile; she just hoped that Nik would refrain from doing anything too stupid in the meantime.

Rebekah had absolute faith in Lydia's wrath if anything happened to Stiles.

What was unexpected was the vehemence with which the rest of the Hales defended the youngest Mikaelson at dinner that night. Rebekah had never laughed so hard as she did when Laura had "accidentally" knocked her ice water into the hybrid's lap.

The mishaps were all harmless, but the stern words and stony looks got the point across to the rest of her family: the Hales stood with the Martins.

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In the end, it was Henrik who saw their brother for the first time. He liked the Beacon Hills Library: it was large without being intimidating, and dotted with quiet, comfortable spaces in which to read or study.

Henrik had escaped early that morning, rather than letting himself get sucked into the chaos that was the Hale house. Inwardly praising his success, he almost didn’t notice his brother sitting across the room as he settled in his favorite chair. He froze, suddenly unsure of letting Stiles see him, but was comforted by the hum of magic deep in his bones that signified both power and kin.

Thankfully, Stiles didn't stir, and Henrik resolved to leave him be. Unfortunately, more often than not, he found his eyes drifting across the room instead of focusing on his reading.

It was lunchtime when Stiles moved to leave, and Henrik decided to follow him. Without thinking, he followed his younger brother all the way into the diner that the family had stopped at on their first day in town.

He had made it into the restaurant when Stiles stopped so suddenly that Henrik smashed into him. Stiles turned, obviously expecting to apologize to whoever was behind him, only to stand dumb at the sight of Henrik.

Feeling the heat in his cheeks at being caught, the older boy blurted the first thing that came to mind. "How are you?"

Stiles shrugged after a moment and looked away. He wanted to ask Henrik what he was doing there, but he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer. "Are you following me?” he asked instead, with a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth, "because this is kind of the opposite of how I remember our interactions when we were children."

He pulled Henrik toward a booth in the back, gaze narrowed. Jo was working again, and she gave Stiles a wide smile that barely dims when she turned to Henrik.

"You look like you need some sleep Stiles. Are you still not feeling well?” she asked, taking their orders.

"Just really busy," he shrugged, "but thanks."

"I was surprised when you became a witch," Stiles said after the waitress left.

“Evidently, when my little brother pumped me full of magic to save my life, some of it stuck around,” Henrik answered drily.

"I'm sorry?"

"You should be." The older boy grinned. "I totally missed out on the whole 'mad with bloodlust' experience. I could be bathing in the blood of virgins right now."

"But that would get so messy, and you'd still have to shower afterwards."

"True. Now that I think about it, both Nik and Elijah _are_ touchy about cleanliness."

"They are the divas of the family," Stiles agreed solemnly.

It took ten minutes for the brothers to stop laughing.

Henrik, as it turned out, was very good at looking pathetic, and Stiles had a especially difficult time telling his brother "no". Every time Stiles opened his mouth to object to meeting his siblings for dinner, his brother would give him the same sad eyes that he thought only toddlers and Scott could generate.

Sure, Rebekah and Henrik were great, but that didn't mean that that the older ones would welcome him with open arms. Right?

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Antonio's was a fancy Italian restaurant just outside the city limits. Stiles and Lydia had been there plenty of times, and it was one of Lydia's favorite places to eat. It was also where he was going to be meeting his siblings for dinner.

He chose the restaurant for the few reasons: first, the food was delicious; second, it was neutral territory for all of them; third, if Stiles had to kill someone tonight, he was pretty sure Tony would help him hide the body.

When he arrived, the restaurant was almost completely empty. The hostess was standing inside the door as usual, a line of wait staff standing to the side, and soft music was playing in the background.

He rolled his eyes. "Let me guess," he asked his waitress, "they bought out the restaurant, didn't they?"

She shrugged apologetically and brought him his drink.

Stiles spent his time waiting for his siblings by munching on bread and texting Laura, who kept sending him increasingly absurd knock-knock jokes in an attempt to make him shoot his drink out of his nose. It was amazingly effective.

Thankfully, both Bekah and Henrik had given him the heads-up when they were close, so Stiles was prepared when his siblings stepped inside the restaurant.

Everyone froze, and almost a full minute passed with the siblings just staring at each other.

Stiles took a half-step forward, only to be immediately and unexpectedly sandwiched between Kol and Freya, tears soaking into his shirt where his sister held him. "You can't leave ever again," she exclaimed quietly. Kol held them both tightly.

Finn kissed his forehead and welcomed him home.

Elijah swept him into a crushing hug, eyes damp.

Niklaus impassively watched the rest of his family greet Stiles. Then his brother turned worried eyes to him.

"Thank you for protecting me," the hybrid said. "I missed you, brother."

And then they were embracing, and crying, and that was fine.

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The next few weeks were some of the best of Stiles's life. He knew that Esther and Mikael would find them soon, but he tried to put it aside for awhile and simply enjoy his reunited family. Before the month was out, the Mikaelsons had all but settled in Beacon Hills, leaving New Orleans to Niklaus's protégé Marcel. When Stiles had objected, his brother had merely smiled slyly and said that he could very well rule the world from anywhere.

Kol and Henrik took to showing up at the Apothecary at all hours, causing a noticeable increase in female patronage, and they, as well as Finn and Freya, started regularly contributing to the shop's wares. While the town was still jealously guarding the secret of Stiles's heritage, the fact that the entire Mikaelson family had set up in a small town in California did not go unnoticed. Thankfully, their presence could be attributed to Rebekah's marriage to Andrew, and the "unification of dynasties" as the gossip mill put it.

The family nights instituted by Freya were uncomfortable at first, but after Lydia not-so-accidentally broke one of Niklaus's priceless vases and threatened to behead him with the pieces, things got markedly better.

The eyebrow duo expanded to include Finn, movie night expanded to include Kol and Henrik, and Lydia regularly had lunch with Freya and texted Elijah random bits of information about Stiles.

He never would have imagined when he left home centuries ago that he would be so fortunate as to have a pack, a family, and a town that cared for him. Not everything was easy, of course--there were way too many dominant personalities among the Martins, the Mikaelsons, and the Hales for that--but for the first time, Stiles allowed himself to consider the possibility that he might survive the final showdown with his parents.


	15. Chapter 15

They were as prepared for the attack as they could be; the hardest part was the waiting. No one knew for sure where Mikael and Esther were, and though Stiles had been informally tracking them for years, he had mostly stopped at his pack's concerned request. Unfortunately, that left questions: Did their parents know where they were? Did they care? Did they know about Stiles?

Things were not completely settled between Niklaus and Stiles, but they did improve. Stiles was still wary of his brother's temper, and Nik was worried about spooking Stiles and sending him running again. They danced around each other for weeks before things came to a head.

Or, rather, Stiles and Niklaus would have continued with their awkward, stilted encounters had Lydia, Rebekah, and Laura not locked them in a closet together and refused to let them out until they had a meaningful conversation.

Even so, the brothers did little more than stare at one another for a half hour before one of them spoke.

"Ivy was my sister,” Nik began, and Stiles looked at him curiously; he wondered who had told the hybrid about _his_ connection with Ivy.

"Ansel helped us after the spell, he and Ivy. He tried to tell me then what you had done, but I was too angry to hear it. Aunt Dahlia as well." He stared at his brother with an inscrutable look on his face long enough that Stiles started to feel uncomfortable.

"You protected our family,” Niklaus said eventually. “You're still trying to protect us, aren't you? I want you to stop."

Stiles blinked, but even in the dark, the hybrid could see his brother's face soften. "Nik--"

"You seem to have forgotten who the little brother is in this relationship," Niklaus snapped, the faintest hint of anger in his voice, "and I will rip Mikael's throat out before I ever let him touch you."

A beat, then, "Really?"

They were lucky that the closet was big enough for Niklaus to put his arms around Stiles; though it hardly mattered with how tightly the two of them held on to one another.

<> <>

"We need to form a cohesive plan." Talia spoke to the room at large. This first meeting, with the entire Hale pack, would set the ground rules for everyone in case one of the betas decided to run off and play the hero. "Esther and Mikael will show up sooner or later--"

"Probably sooner," Peter snorted.

"--and I don't want anyone caught unaware and unable to defend themselves if necessary," the Alpha finished.

Everyone will be responsible for two contacts in case of a sighting," Jackson added, drawing the room's attention. "Each trio will consist of a member of the Hale pack, the Martin pack, and the Mikaelsons. Do not attempt to engage them unless you'd like to end up a red smear on the sidewalk."

"What if one of them approaches us first?” one of the betas asked.

"By all means, get yourself killed. Natural selection, and all that," Peter said, dodging as his sister tried to punch his shoulder.

"Do not fight them," Talia reiterated. "If you do, you're on your own." There was grumbling, but no one argued. After a couple more reminders to stay out of trouble, she threw the betas out.

When the Originals, the Martins, and the immediate Hale family were alone, the real planning began.

"The best thing to do," Stiles said, "is to get them out into the forest where they can't cause collateral damage." He glanced at his siblings. "Henrik and I have been researching, and we think we've found a spell that can help us."

Freya shook her head. "There is no spell that can kill our parents. We've been trying for years."

"That's why we've designed our own," Stiles said simply.

"Things don't work that way," his sister argued. "You can't just make up spells."

"Sure you can. The original spells had to come from somewhere. Why not us?"

"Wouldn't you need to be pretty powerful to do something like that?” Nadia asked curiously.

"Actually," Stiles answered, "all it takes is a little imagination."

"And Stiles has always had that," Henrik added, smiling. Freya and the rest of their siblings looked dubious, but the brothers would bring them around.

"Can you use the nemeton?" Cora asked. "It could give you an extra boost of power."

"The nemeton does what it wants. We shouldn't depend on it to help," Lydia explained.

Derek cleared his throat. "You guys are pretty famous for helping people. Is there anyone else you can count on if we fail?"

"We're not without outside allies," Jackson admitted, "but we would rather not involve outside help in this, either."

"Ideally, this is a Mikaelson family fight," Stiles said, putting up a hand to forestall objections. "I couldn't keep you from helping even if I wanted to, so I won't try. But please, everyone be careful, and don't be afraid to run."

"Our parents will show you no mercy," Freya explained, "but neither should they take the time to pursue you over us." She glanced at Peter. "Do not let hubris get you killed."

Ultimately, the plan was simple: the Hales and Martins would provide both distraction and cover while the Original siblings pushed their parents toward the woods, where the witches would set up the spell to kill their parents.

Stiles prayed that everything would go smoothly.

(It didn't.)

<> <>

Stiles ran into the woods with the smell of the burning Hale house behind him. He trusted that everyone would make it out, but the thought that he might never see his friends again made him slightly sick. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to worry about the Hales right now.

The spell that Stiles and the others had prepared was all but useless now, the ingredients scattered about the forest. Finn and Henrik were injured, Freya and Lydia missing, and Kol and Stiles had been separated a few minutes before.

The vampires and the rest of the Martins were stuck in town, fighting the army of hybrids that Mikael had somehow created to destroy his children. Stiles just hoped that the majority of people would stay inside where it was safe, and leave the actual fighting to his families.

(Stiles wondered if his parents had recognized the irony of creating monsters to destroy other monsters. He figured they probably hadn't--zealots weren't usually big on irony.)

<> <>

There was pain. So much, it hurt to breathe, and Stiles willed away the gray clouding the edges of his vision. He could pass out after his parents were dead. Right now, he was going to have to figure out how to stand up. Stupid stab wounds. He dimly wondered if the nemeton would save him again, before deciding it didn't matter. Stopping his parents was the most important thing. Maybe the nemeton would help with that?

He had a second to hope that Kol had made it to town before his mother brought the knife down again. He groaned. "I'm so sorry, baby. I've let you suffer for so long. You were too fragile for such power," Esther said, brushing the matted hair from her son's eyes. When she turned away for a moment, he staggered to his feet and gasped.

A tingling spread from the tips of his fingers inward, leaving numbness in their wake until his body dropped again like a stone. Stiles was pretty sure that he was shaking, but he couldn't feel his body. He might have also been screaming, but he couldn't really hear, either.

Stiles thought of his friends, his pack; hopefully, the Hales would take them in after he was gone. He thought of how Cora reminded him of Ivy in her gentle fierceness, and thought that they would be fine. His family would finally be safe as well, with no more constantly waiting for Mikael and Esther to jump out of the shadows. They could retire to someplace sunny and warm, like Lydia had always wanted. Ayana and Aunt Dahlia would be proud of him.

He heard howling in the distance, and wondered if the nemeton would lure the wolves, or leave them searching aimlessly for its location. He kind of hoped, despite everything, that they were coming to rescue him.

He pushed himself up on shaking knees, mind furiously reaching for something to stop his mother before she killed him. He thought of Zaina, suddenly, and how he never did get that damn candle to light. He pushed his hands into the ground to help keep himself upright, even as Esther stalked toward him.

She was almost to him when when she jerked to a stop, eyes wide as she glanced first at the hand that had appeared through her chest, then at her youngest son. Stiles swallowed his mixed emotions as his mother's body slumped to the ground, leaving his father standing before him.

"I must say, I was impressed with the way that you have convinced these people that you are worthy of affection," he said, idly wiping the blood off of his arm. "It's so tiresome making hybrids, and it will only get harder now that your mother is gone. Fear can only accomplish so much."

Stiles stared at the monster wearing his father's face and tried to focus on something other than bleeding to death. His hands pressed harder into the slick ground, fingers in the dirt.

He jolted slightly as he felt something unfurl beneath his fingers, but he didn't look away from Mikael.

"What's this?" the vampire laughed, stepping out of the way of a path of blooming flowers. "Are you trying to drown me in greenery?"

Both men watched as the forest around them burst to life with unidentifiable flowers, vines creeping from the surrounding trees. The wildlife, Stiles noted distantly, was silent.

He felt something move over his arms and up his legs, and realized that the vines were pulling him carefully to his feet, sort of gently herding the both of them toward the nemeton. Stiles didn't think that Mikael had even noticed the vines creeping towards his ankles.

"This is the magic that your mother was afraid of," he scoffed. He glanced longingly toward the druidic tree. "It's such a shame that I loved you."

Stiles couldn't stop the tears from sliding down his face as he willed the vines to propel him forward.

"Papa, I'm sorry, and I love you." He surged forward to embrace his father, using his magic to drive them both toward the nemeton. He used the brief moments of his father's surprise and help from the vines to keep the vampire from biting him, and they hit the tree hard. The spirits of the tree washed over them, Mikael thrashing in his grasp. He heard a crack of bone, but he didn't let go. Stiles wasn't sure how much blood he had left to give, but he hoped this would be enough.

Stiles sent out a silent prayer to anyone listening that his plan would work before he slashed his hand and lifted his bloody palm to his father's mouth. He screamed as pain flared through his hand, but he managed a smile as he felt Mikael jerk as the nemeton's magic filled him. The vampire jerked again, smashing Stiles's head into the trunk.

His last thought was to hope that his siblings showed up in time to finish their father off.

<> <>

The first thing Stiles noticed as he swam back into consciousness was a voice.

"I'm very irritated with you," Lydia admonished, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. Her angry eyes swam into view, and Stiles fought the urge to smile despite the cotton in his head.

"More so than usual?"

"Your siblings have been insufferable, and I've had to deal with them," she complained, though her eyes were soft as she leaned over to brush the hair from his face. "They didn't like that they couldn't just give you blood and be done with it."

"I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you."

"Yes, well, I told them the potential consequences of angering the nemeton, and I'm sure you can imagine the colorful responses I received from them, Niklaus in particular."

"Where are they?"

"Drew, Derek, and Cora dragged everyone out to eat." At Stiles's look, she added, "Don't look at me like that; Kira's bringing me something."

"What happened to Mikael? Is everyone else all right?"

"I wasn't there to see it," she griped, "but Derek said that when he and Laura got there Mikael was being sucked into the nemeton." Stiles raised his eyebrows at her, and she shrugged. "Evidently, while you were bleeding to death on a bed of flowers, a bunch of plants ate your father. Or something like that."

"Killing Mikael was more important than saving me," he offered, ignoring Lydia's glare.

"Kol and Elijah got there while Laura was trying to bind your wounds, and Elijah raced you back here. Freya and Finn patched you up. Nadia helped."

"You look tired. Lay down with me."

Lydia glared at him, but didn't resist as Stiles grasped her forearm and guided her down next to him and tucked her head against his shoulder.

When everyone returned a little later, they found the couple curled together, fast asleep.

<> <>

The month following Mikael and Esther's deaths was surprisingly normal, notwithstanding Stiles's new shadow. Lydia hadn't forced Stiles to stay in bed any longer than necessary, but that didn't mean that everyone left him alone. Two days after he woke up, Scott jokingly suggested having someone follow Stiles around to keep him out of trouble, and within minutes Jackson and Peter were coordinating a schedule. Niklaus helped.

He complained, loudly and often, but Stiles had never been happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it! Thank you to everyone who made it through with me; I appreciate your comments and kudos and general happy thoughts.
> 
> Next week: I'm not sure what I'll be posting, though at least some of it will be Peter/Stiles, and probably no crossovers.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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